


Ace In The Hole

by Umbreonix



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Al likes cats, Alastor Being Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), And the only thing in common is stockholm syndrome, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Beauty and the Beast Elements, But a catbird and a cannibal, But even he doesn't know that, Everyone's unoffical dad, First Chapter Suicide Srry, Husk a secret genius, Husk has a heart of gold, Kitty Husk, M/M, RadioHusk, Strangers to barely even friends, and Husk is a grumpy old man, bad words, but then somebody bends, the boys are bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbreonix/pseuds/Umbreonix
Summary: Husk knows that keeping one's cards close to their chest is instrumental to survival in hell. Especially when an overlord's got their eye on you. Useful people tend to get used up.So that's how he survives his decades under Alastor's supervision. Never be too interesting. Never be too valuable. As far as the Radio Demon knows, he's just a drunkard. He doesn't even need to pretend. As far as he's concerned, that's all he is now anyway.Unfortunately for him, he underestimates himself and it's hard to hide what you didn't know existedNo sexy times (and no, the title is not an innuendo) but Mature because there are a few no-no words... and blood... and suicide... and genocide... and alcoholism. This is Hazbin Hotel, I don't know what you expected.  The name used to be "Hell is Russian Roulette with a Deer" if you are confused.
Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 218
Kudos: 419





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I always have imposter syndrome in a fandom until I make at least one contribution :/ I have a few other open fics so this feels like a bad idea, but the inspiration struck. 
> 
> I've never watched a live stream so some of my info will be non-cannon. Or something I assumed was cannon because I read it in another fic and if I steal something omigoshI'mSoSorry. 
> 
> Maybe in some ways this might become more of a fanfiction of Jadeile's Afterlife stories than the actual series itself, who knows where the lines get drawn. 
> 
> I was never going to write a Hazbin fic because I don't really like to cuss XD But if I'm going to write as Husk I have to, so might as well go all out.

As hard as it can be to picture, he was a child once. An ugly and gangly little thing that would wander the post-prohibition Los Vegas Strip unsupervised with the same wonder and lack of caution as any other kid might have walking through a candy store. 

Some might say his ultimate fate of descending into a life (and afterlife for that matter) of alcohol and gambling addiction was sealed from the moment his showgirl mother popped him out in the breakroom of the Last Frontier after one final chug of vodka.

It wasn’t a typical childhood, but he had loved every second of it. The glitz, the glamour, the big wins and the grins. Frenzied joy with an undertone of desperate glee buzzed through the town with a constant thrum. Visitors unused to that kind of high got deliriously drunk on the air but to him, it was just the warm and comforting feeling of home.

By ten years old he was performing magic tricks in front of tables and groups. There was enough illegal shit going on in the background, no one in early sin city was going to raise a stink about something as mundane as child labour. He never had a mentor for his magic, but he was sharp-witted and nimble with his hands, giving him both a knack for figuring out a trick after seeing it performed and the dexterity to replicate it. 

It helped him make some pocket change, and it drove the local magic association mad- which was an aside bonus- He could be a cheeky little devil sometimes. 

Through everything, the one good thing his mother did for him as a parent was teach him to hide just how clever he was. “Never show all your cards,” she’d say. It was no secret the town was run by the mob, and she’d always known that they’d happily recruit a boy like him with a good head on his shoulders. Sure his life still eventually fell apart, but it could have been much worse much sooner. At least he would always have those golden years to look back on.

Except he doesn’t.

He hardly remembers any of those moments anymore.

The memories have become hazy with time (and alcohol), like the flashes of images and conversations from a night of blackout binge drinking.  
He remembers the feelings though. Of hope, excitement and optimism- as far away as they can sometimes feel. 

Maybe that’s why in his last years, the small thrill of dice and cards were one of the only things that could pull him up for a couple moments from the cold black water of indifference that seemed to drown out any other feeling of pain or pleasure in his empty chest.

There used to be other things he liked. At least, he thinks he liked them?

Like travelling. In his youth, whenever he made up enough money at the casinos he’d immediately book a flight to the most exotic place he could think of on the fly.  
As soon as he’d land, he’d take a few steps from the airport, spot the seediest hole-in-wall sort of place he could find, and make his home at the bar for the duration of his stay.

He didn’t care about landmarks. If you wanted to know what life in another part of the world is like, this was the kind of place you had to go. He liked people. People liked him. It was likely his ability to listen that caused even the most jaded of men to end up opening themselves up him. Every person had a story if you dug down deep enough, and he always appreciated a challenge. 

It was his philosophy in life back then that all one needed was good booze and new company.

He would entertain the various regulars with tricks and sometimes even pick up a few new ones along the way. In return for the entertainment, the men at the bar would start teaching him bits of the country’s language, always, of course, starting with the swear words. What they’d never expect though was how quickly he’d start winding those words into more complex sentences. Again, he was a good listener. His talent for picking up languages was arguably his greatest trick of all. After a month of casual stunted conversations, he’d be fluent. 

When people would gape in awe and ask him how he’d done it (a question magicians like him were quite used to), he’d just shrug and say “Once you know two languages, what’s a third?” (Or fourth, or fifth or sixth or seventh)

When he’d run out of money, that’s when he’d return home and start the process again.

That was probably how he’d first gotten lured in by the wartime propaganda. It seemed like a stellar opportunity: A way to make money AND travel. He enlisted with the same amount of consideration he had put into most of his impromptu vacations.

This trip was different.

He never learned Vietnamese.

He could go on a long mournful tirade about how ‘the battle had left him hollowed and haunted’, a soliloquy that would occasionally wax into near poetry and tug at your heartstrings, but he won’t and fuck you for asking. He never saw much point in romanticizing pain. He was of an era where men believed personal shit was meant to be either be swept under the rug or, more commonly, drowned with a bottle- and believe him, there was nothing beautiful that ever came out of that.

And that’s what he did.

Drink.

‘Till he was plastered to high hell and blacked out each night in a blissful way sleep would never afford him.

He didn’t find pleasure in other’s company anymore, there was a wall of glass between him and his fellow man now that he couldn’t overcome. When you get too used to your allies dropping like flies, how are you ever supposed to let yourself get too attached again? As for strangers (especially the foreign ones he used to fascinate in so much), he’d learned not to see them as people anymore… it had made the necessary killing easier and once you’d turned off that switch of human empathy it wasn’t something you could turn back on whenever it was convenient. 

His philosophy had changed. Now all he ever needed was cheap booze and solitude.

He no longer bothered talking to the drunkards at the bar. for all they really were was just another type of mirror in which to see himself. He hated looking at himself.

It wasn’t too long before he began to crave a more permeant blackout.

He had figured eventually the poison he was drinking on a daily basis would do in his liver, but he had forgotten to account for the Russian in him. When that wasn’t happening fast enough, he realized lead to the brain would be a much faster and more direct approach. 

He had expected blissful nothingness.

What he had gotten moments later instead, was opening his eyes up to a tablou of chaos within a glaring and garish red and pink hellscape. There was so much screaming. Why were his ears suddenly so sensitive? He always said that his hearing had been shot to hell after all of his work with a rifle. He hadn’t meant it literally, but he guessed it was true given that it had been down here waiting for him. 

…but this sense seemed even more keen than it had ever been before… and were scents stronger here, or was his smell improving too?

Something to experiment with later he supposed.

Right now, he acknowledged he should focus on the matter at hand.

He was on a crowded downtown street.

A man up on the roof of a local food joint was grinning manically and speaking into what looked to be a radio mic. While it didn’t have any wires, it seemed to be working none-the-less. The tin voice resounded from a radio in the broken storefront behind him. “What a scream!” The man in the radio said as the man on the roof’s mouth moved in unison. 

(A shitty magic trick he could probably replicate a dozen different ways if he wanted)

Despite appearing to be an audio/radioman, he didn’t seem to mind putting on a more visual show for the couple of people actually present to witness his carnage. As he spoke, he’d spread his arms and twirl as if the whole world was watching. 

The man on the ground couldn’t help but think he reminded him of an even more demented version of that chocolate factory owner from that new movie everyone up above was raving about… the name was on the tip of his tongue…

A weird-ass creature that looked like the result of a man fucking a beetle was crying, pleading and screeching in fear beside the smiling man, held bound by a few black tentacles. “A lovely scream indeed, such beautiful lungs~” Wilfred Wonky said with a hand to his chest as if savouring the different notes he could wring out of the bug monster. 

The newly descended man had already lost interest in whatever fuckery that all was and his attention waned from the scene on the roof just as the screams emitted from the radio went from terror to pain, accompanied by ripping and sloshing sounds. “Literally,” The commentator added, voice now tinted with gleeful malice.  
The tentacles were actually everywhere, elditch horrors rising from portals in the ground, destroying anything, everything and anyone they indiscriminately grabbed off the street. That… was a little bit more impressive of a trick.

More importantly however,

Across the street he already marked three bars and two gambling houses.

Huh,

Now this place was looking a bit more like home.

He wandered over to the dingiest looking watering hole of the lot on reflex, (as he had always been want to do in a new and exotic place) but he almost immediately tripped. He spread his wings instinctively to balance himself.

Wait wings? Jesus Christ! He experimentally moved his wings and found the movement as natural as if he had these extra appendages his whole life.

He glanced down at his nightmarish front paws in befuddlement. 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered as a mangled corpse fell from the sky behind him. 

If he hadn’t needed it before, now he could really use that drink.

He stepped his way across the gore-filled fuckfest, only grimacing a little as his bare paws stepped in something oozing as he made his way over to the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some gore- I tried to be as vague as possible

He sauntered into the establishment and found it mostly deserted.

No, on second inspection, not deserted. There were a number of strange demon things hiding under tables and behind the bar.

He padded his way past the various cowering figures (hating how dainty his paws sounded on the hardwood) and hopped onto a bar stool. He proceeded to slap his front paw on the countertop demandingly, vicious claws clacking against the hard surface. “Any of you Candy-asses actually work here?”

“Sir,” A certain one-eyed disco-themed monster said through gritted teeth, although it was obvious she really wanted to call him something much worse. “What the FUCK are you doing? We are in the middle of a radio demon broadcast!”

Just to contradict her, the voice on the bar radio chimed in. “And so concludes today’s broadcast! I hope I provided you all with ample entertainment! Until tomorrow dear friends! Have a swell night!” The transmission switched itself to an upbeat swing channel.

“And now it ain’t,” he said. “So what’s on tap toots?”

There was a collective sigh of relief through the room and the bartender stood up slowly, sending him an icy cyclopsian stare. “Have any money there, bub? You don’t exactly seem to have pockets in your fur.”

Shit.

Dammit.

She was right.

He leaned back in defeat. He didn’t suppose magic tricks would go over well with this crowd. How else to make a quick buck? Even with gambling, you have to have money to make money. This was his first time being fully sober in years and he hated it. There was absolutely no fucking way he was walking out of here while this new body still had a zero percent blood-alcohol content.

Before he could make any kind of plan, the doors to the bar burst open.

There was a chill- which was strange only because he had just been outside and it was downright balmy out. He could feel the strange sensation of the fur on his hackles raising in primal instinct. The static sound that was suddenly filling the air gave him a good idea of what psychopath just entered in. 

An echo-y laugh rang out as steps that almost sounded like hoof clacks made their way over.

“Now wasn’t that simply a hoot! Why, I outta come to this part of town more often! Absolutely delightful!” The man's voice had the strangest quality to it. As if it were still being filtered through a radio speaker.

The stool next to him shrieked against the floor as it was pulled out and the so-called Radio Demon sat down. Great.

He figured he’d just ignore him for now. While his new demon senses were buzzing, the human part of him was still feeling woefully indifferent to this turn of events. He had just killed himself a few minutes ago, he wasn’t about to care about something as utterly stupid as self-preservation now.

Despite his intentions, It seemed that the Jolly Murderer wasn’t about to let them stay strangers. The demon shoved a gloved hand in his face and when he didn’t immediately move to take it, he had the gal to forcibly grab his paw and give it a few over-enthusiastic shakes. “Alastor’s my name good fellow! A pleasure to meet you! I’d ask you your name but you likely don’t have one yet!” He threw back his head and laughed although there was nothing that funny about anything said. Maybe the friendliness was supposed to be disarming but it was having the opposite effect. “Let me tell you, I was quite surprised when I saw you spawn in the middle of the street! I have been here a while and have never been so lucky as to witness the birth of a new demon down here in hell! I simply HAD to cut my broadcast short to come and observe!”

“Observe what?” the new demon asked gruffy, tearing his paw away and ignoring the furious look the bartender was giving him as she screamed silently with her eye _‘don’t upset him!’_

The Radio Demon didn’t seem to be bothered by his rebuff however.

“Why, your reaction to realizing that you’ve just been damned to an eternity of suffering of course!”

“You’ve got some nasty kinks,” he said dryly.

The air grew in static and there was the sharp trill of radio interference.

The others in the room froze- which was a feat given that they were already giving complete deer-in-headlights vibes. Ironic for a number of reasons. The terrified bystanders appeared to be an assortment of anthropomorphized predatory animals while the radio demon himself was in actuality... a deer? In less of a literal sense like the others and more so thematically. He was graceful in appearance, thin and long-limbed with a small set of antlers on his head being his only outright animalistic feature aside from the two tufts of hair shaped like ears. On that note, was hell designed by Disney?

The nameless newcomer noticed with some caution that even though the deer-man was audibly upset, that stupid smile hadn’t wavered which was, frankly, disturbing.

The radio demon blinked after a moment and seemed to compose himself, the screeching noise dropped back to an ambient crackle. “Haha, no. I simply desire entertainment in the purest sense! Good wholesome slaughter! We’re down here for the long haul, might as well make it one hell of a time! I figured watching a new soul make sense of his surroundings and come to terms with his eternal damnation would be a sight I simply couldn’t let myself miss! So tell me old chum, what all is running through your tiny little insignificant mind at this moment?” The radio mic was jammed into his snout at this question, as if he were a guest speaker. (also it seemed that he now had a snout- a fact once again filed away for later)

“That I’m too fucking sober for this bullshit,” he said into the device.

Alastor laughed, “Barkeep! A drink for my friend and I!”

The rainbow cyclops along with the rest of the patrons were caught in the act of slowly creeping over to the exit. Two things happened in the span of a second. One: Alastor’s shadow detached from his own body and dashed in front of the other demons, taking on a three-dimensional form as it blocked the door. Two: The hands of the barkeep’s own shadow reached up from the floor and grabbed her ankles before forcibly sliding her back to her position in front of the two men at the bar.

“Of course sir,” she said with a shaky voice.

“Give us an old fashioned,” Alastor said cheerfully, “I’m feeling nostalgic.”

The girl nodded her head and began to pull out the ingredients with shaking hands.

The radio demon seemed to delight in her discomfort and gave his new companion a short break in favour of watching her intently. “What’s the matter deary, perhaps this task is beyond the capabilities of a young bim such as yourself?”

She shook her head slowly and bit her lip, about ready to fall apart in a fit of anxiety despite her earlier gruff exterior. He felt bad for her. She looked young, clearly only in her early twenties. Not to mention her look was a very recent aesthetic among the youth these days. Maybe new trends had a way of reaching down to hell and she was actually older than even him but he couldn’t help but see her as a kid. He never liked watching kids die, and didn't want to now. He was finally starting to feel a little on edge, and not for himself.

The Radio Demon’s eyes narrowed and his grin sharpened with delight.

He really was a sadistic pervert.

When it came to pouring the whiskey, her quivering hands caused the second glass to overpour and she reeled back in horror.

Despite his very calculated attempt at retaining apathy, he still leaped in to save her. “Fucking finally,” he said and grabbed at the messed-up drink. He didn’t mind if the proportions were wrong anyway, he would have been just as fine chugging straight whiskey if he was being honest.

Alastor looked slightly disappointed that his fun with her was over. Or as disappointed as one could look with an ear-splitting grin. He accepted his own drink. “Thank you darling!” He gave her a dismissive wave and her legs gave out in relief, slumping to the floor just as her shadow released her ankles.

Alastor’s head moved unnaturally towards the door where the other demons had gathered before the shadow puppet had intercepted them and his look grew dangerous as weird ancient symbols filled the air, “and where did you all think you were going?”

None could reply through their horror.

Then Alastor laughed again. “I only jest! The show is over! Go! Begone you miscreants!”

The crowds flooded out of the bar in terror, even the bartender managed to slip away and soon the two were the only souls left. Small mercies. He felt himself relax again. The newbie glanced behind the bar with an impressed “huh.”

He downed his old fashioned and then reached over the counter to grab at the rest of the whiskey bottle, “Guess we’re drinking free tonight.”

“I must say, you’ve been quite disappointing thus far!” Alastor admitted with an entirely too-cheerful tone. “Perhaps the reality hasn’t quite set in yet. How about we take a walk?”

Before he could reject the offer the red demon was already dragging him away with surprising strength. He tried to paw at the whiskey still sitting at his spot at the bar. He was unsuccessful, his claws just barely grazed the label.

“Motherfucker!” He cursed angrily.

The radio demon froze and turned to him slowly and he realized this was probably the closest he’d come so far to being disembowelled.

“⛧̷̨͓̞͖̩̣͇̋͛̓͂̉̈̌ ̶̧̮̺͈͛̿̋͋͋̐͘͘☠̶̡̢͍̹̠̝̜̝͗̓̄̈́̀͐̿̕̚ ̵̞͓̬̘̎͒̏̅͐̒̀͘̕I̵̛̯͈̬͈̱̮̋̂͊̑̊̃ͅ ̶̬̭̳̳͍̼̻̿̓͊͋͗͘͝͝w̵͈̞̃̿̽̈̓͜ỏ̸͈̼͓̥̯ṳ̷̭͖̫͓̠͇̏̌͋̇͋̄͜ͅļ̶̹̾̈́͐͌̌d̸̡̔̇͂̒̏̓̏̏̂ͅ ̸͈̓̿̎̅̆͊̐͝n̷̢̧̰͓̭̺̤͇͋̃̈́̈́̕͠e̸̛͖̮̔͒͗̀̍͝v̴̛̩̪̉͌̂̍̈́͂̑ē̸̢͙̜̘̹̪̗̺͖̌̑r̵̡̨͖̪̘̫̋̂͆̅̅͝ ̴̙̙̱̞͍̒̈́̽ͅ⛧̸̢̛̗͇̣̩̝̒̔̾̋̌̒͘,”

“Would never what?” He asked breathlessly, finally feeling a bit of fear creeping down his spine. What elected this? He considered the last thing he’d said. “I wasn’t being literal pal,” he scoffed, masking his sudden anxiety with the world’s greatest poker face.

“Good.” The demon said. “Never mention my mother with that vulgar little mouth of yours again. You know she’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your skin off like a Christmas present and ate at your innards already."

Woah.

Okay there.

He let the radio demon drag him back out into the street as he processed that. This sick bastard ate people? Well, this was hell. A deserted hell now by the looks of it. The street was empty, other demons wisely having determined to stay clear of it for a while. The remains of the carnage littered everywhere seemed like a rather good deterrent.

Alastor grinned. “No! She loved cats!" He continued to ramble. "For her sake, I could never!”

He didn’t push his luck and question whether his mother would approve of his cannibalistic tendencies. He knew when to hold.

Wait a second there.

“Cats? What about cats?”

The red-clad demon’s eyes lit up in glee. “Of course! You haven’t even seen yourself yet!” Alastor snapped his fingers and a full-length mirror appeared.

He looked at himself in disbelief. Good God. He looked like the Cat In The Hat’s coked-up reject cousin. It didn’t seem like hell was this cruel to anyone else. Things were never fair for him. He didn’t entirely hate the card motif decals on his wings but the sprinkle of hearts across his cat body was downright embarrassing. He was too old and too tired to be ‘cute’. Even his nose was heart-shaped and delicate looking.

Apparently, his new horror had managed to actually creep across his indifferent face as he stared again at his cute little kitty paw pads because the radio demon finally looked like he was getting the reactions he wanted. “Have you put any thought into your name? Most demons like to change it from their Earth one. Personally, I would never shed something mother had given me but in my opinion, you look like a Mittens. Or perhaps a Tux?”

“Hell no. I'm not a house cat!”

“Well I’d be interested to know what a boring husk of a man would think up for himself. John?”

“Husk works fine,” the newly named Husk said.

“Husker it is!”

“It’s Hu- oh whatever. Call me whatever you want,” Husk said in indifference. _Just not dinner._ He'd always hated that saying because it was stupid and made no sense but it was startlingly appropriate in this setting.

“Well, Husker, let me show you around your new home as well as offer you a boon.”

“A boon?” Husk asked with rightful suspicion for someone who had just openly voiced his distaste for him.

“Well, now that you are down here in the pits, you’ll need protection! Protection I as an overlord can provide! You wouldn’t want to end up like that formless little thing over there now would you?” He asked, gesturing at a piece of viscera.

“Yeeeahh, sorry, no dice. Go find some other chum.” Husk said and flipped the radio demon off for good measure. Even he wasn’t that stupid. On the scale of give and take, this man was clearly a taker.

“You don’t care what becomes of you then?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be down here today,” Husk shrugged and the radio demon seemed to understand the implications of the statement.

“I think you misunderstand how it works down here,” Alastor said. “Allow me to enlighten you. Look a little closer at the remains of this poor contractless sod here.”

Ug. He’d rather not.

Alastor laid his hands on either side of the cat’s face and forced his gaze back on the demon remains. They were… writhing. “There’s no quick escape from here I’m afraid. There’s just the choice to live in torment or _more torment_.”

“What… what is happening there?” Husk asked too mortified to even pepper in some of his more colourful vocabulary.

“He’s regenerating. Given how far his body has been damaged, it could take months _and he will feel every second of it_. The only reason you can't hear his screaming is he doesn't have a mouth yet.”

Bile was rising in Husk’s throat but he could see Alastor closely monitoring his reaction and he wasn’t going to give him what he wanted a second time.

“And to make matters worse for him, he has no one to come collect his body to take to somewhere safe. As it is, he’s prone to the elements. The pitiful dear!”

Alastor suddenly stepped back and tugged Husk along just as a speeding car raced by and crushed the pile of guts under-tire. “Oh my, there goes all of his progress,” he said with a sick grin.

To further drive home the point. Alastor nearly skipped over and flicked and the flattened body with the tip of his mic handle (???- could it even be called a body at this point?) such that it flew into a nearby sewer. There was a strange sound of a behemoth moving through the tunnel system down below accompanied by a slight tremor of the ground and finally, a sick chomping noise.

“He will continue to regenerate no matter what.”

The rules of the game had just changed. That was not a fate Husk was planning for himself as masochistic as he sometimes came off.

“Why do you even want to help me? I doubt you gave each of these demons an offer before you massacred them?”

“Well, I had earlier said my mother was a fan of cats, but I’ve always been quite fond of them myself. My dear Dotty was my best friend growing up!”

Probably his only friend. The freak.

“You won’t get this kind of offer twice!” Alastor promised. He tapped the ground with his mic stand and a second later they were teleported to the roof of the bar.

He pulled Husk into a cold side hug devoid of affection and pointed to a building in the distance labelled in a bold, shameless font _‘Porn Studios’_.

“Of all of the overlords I consider myself the most generous! The other ones expect a little bit more of an employee-employer relationship. Trust me my good fellow, you would not like the type of work they require.” He nudged Husk’s face to look into the window of a nearby apartment where the television was on.

… Was that pornography? Why? A spider demon was engaging in some rather scandalous activity with a couple of burly blokes... it looked more painful than pleasurable. “Although if that life appeals to you, be my guest and walk away.”

Husk turned to find the Radio Demon looking utterly revolted. “Vile work it is. I don’t even see the output as having much entertainment value myself.” He was surprisingly prudish for such a sicko. He had only glanced at the television long enough to make his point before he looked away and snapped his fingers.

There was cussing in the apartment. The TV screen had shattered with a series of sparks.

“And if you grant me protection…” Husk said slowly. “What exactly will you ask of me?”

The demon gripped his shoulder with delight seeing that he was now considering the offer. “Only to perform favours I would consider you capable of and within your abilities! Although for a drunkard like you, I suspect it will be difficult to find fitting tasks. Those claws look like they might do some good in a few low-level scraps although I’m sure even _you_ must have some special talents! We can amend our relationship in good time in a way that is favourable to both of us!”

He had to think this through. It was definitely a gamble to ‘trust’ this man. However, what choice did he have? The demon had been right, he’d never get as generous an offer. He even had some advantages in this deal. For one, the radio demon seemed to put ‘not harming cats’ on his very short list of morals so he’d have to really screw the pooch to face his full brutalist tendencies. Secondly, as long as he just kept doing his thing as a useless bum, he might not even get called upon that often.

The scales of pros and cons were finally tipped however when the radio demon snapped again and the whiskey appeared back in Husk’s claws.

“I could be amenable...” He conceded, stroking his bottle tenderly like a long-lost lover. After all, if life was a card game, having Alastor at his side would be like having a permanent Joker in-hand. As long as he played the rest of his cards right, and never showed a tell, this relationship could be much more beneficial for him than even the radio demon.

“Brilliant!” Alastor said and held out his hand to shake, a whirlwind of green energy surrounded them. This time Husk willing took the hand and the pact was formed.

The deal was he’d only do tasks Alastor thought him capable of. Easy, he could definitely play this man. He just had to keep the deer demon's expectations low and it would all be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I said there'd be no sexy times in this fic. Off to the porn studios our antiheroes go!

And so the years passed.

With some slight initial assistance from Alastor, he got himself stable. (The Husk-definition of stable that was considered explicitly unstable to anyone else). At a base level, their relationship was centred on the favour of protection. However, the Radio Demon’s contract-holders were allowed to ask for additional one-time favours as long as they were willing to perform additional one-time acts of servitude that equalled the magnitude of the favour.

Husk begrudgingly had to bum fifty bucks off of Alastor to get his start in his afterlife- and that was as high as he was willing to go given he didn’t know exactly what the Radio Demon would find an equal exchange for that. Then he hit the casino- a less risky decision than one would think. Being a master of quick-handed tricks, he knew how to cheat. Under ordinary circumstances, he just didn’t like to.

He knew he wouldn’t get caught, and it took away the fun of the high-stakes gambling. Maybe in the past, depending on who he was playing against, he’d also choose not to cheat them but now he was in hell and found that he could shed that bit of moral responsibility. There were no good people down here.

So he turned those fifty dollars into a down payment for the cheapest apartment he could find after a few nights of cards.

The place was a depraved pit of hell-roaches and mold that spread over from the hoarder tenants next door.

It wasn’t great but it was a place to rest his head anyway, and a massive relief. Until he had secured shelter he didn’t drink. His ability to count cards while inebriated was still somewhat impressive but certainly prone to error- and he wasn’t going to let himself go back to Alastor too soon asking for another money loan.

He celebrated his new place with FAR too many drinks for his thin gawky body and blissfully passed out sprawled on the carpet.

He was, as promised, called upon by Alastor over the years. Often for the little fights the deer had mentioned he’d be included in on pre-deal. They were pretty easy, usually just handling some minions of the other side while Alastor took on the real fighting. Still, he usually got summoned with a number of different demons under similar contracts and… the others didn’t really manage their way through it all as easily. More than once, Alastor had to pick up the remains of a wimpier demon when all was resolved (but it was relieving to see he actually _did_ pick them up).

Perhaps the battles weren’t as easy as Husk had thought and he was just surprisingly strong? Or maybe it was just from his experience as a soldier. He purposely never did too well when Alastor was directly watching, taking a few pathetic hits here and there he would have otherwise dodged.

Sometimes he’d get called for something more stupid, like paying for Alastor’s bill at the end of an evening out. Note: he was never included in the festivities, only summoned at the end. He didn’t mind though because Alastor usually found some rather interesting spots he’d never have stumbled upon on his own. If he was particularly impressed with the venue, he’d grumble about being summoned until the Radio Demon left, and then he’d hang around. Maybe order a nice wine, try out the food... ‘Self-care’ was a term that had started appearing in the seventies but it was certainly never advice Husk had followed. It was surprisingly nice sometimes… Perhaps Alastor was onto something.

So yeah, occasionally, these calls were a nice change of pace. Other times, it was bloody annoying to get roused from bed in the middle of the night to only have to walk a mile back home because, _of course_ Alastor never teleported him back after he fulfilled his duties.

Their relationship had very real benefits though. He definitely hadn’t originally lied about the necessity of a pact for a lower level demon like him. The sight of the radio that now sat in Husk’s room, a special make that only contract-holders owned, warded off every home invasion right quick- and there were a lot of those in his shitty building. If there were ever a special emergency, he could call on Alastor by changing the dial to the 66.6 frequency and yelling into the speaker... There’s no explaining how exactly _that worked_ … and he hadn’t tried it yet.

Later, a special insignia on his door did the trick even better. (and thus his door did not have to get destroyed every time before demons decided it was a better idea to leave his place alone)

There were a number of times during nights gone wrong at the casino that he’d run into trouble. (always either because he had gotten too drunk and performed poorly enough to owe someone money or because he had done a little too well and someone held a grudge) All he really had to do in these cases was invoke the radio demon’s name and the smarter of assailants backed off.

There were always some exceptions. Hopelessly stupid idiots who would carry on with their attempted battery but he could easily turn the tables on thugs like that himself in a brawl.

Inevitably, there was a time that he had died. In a fluke accident no less. Speaking in probabilities however, it was bound to have happened given the state of hell and the number of both natural and unnatural disasters. Ten years into his afterlife, a new demon entered the scene and soon things had gotten more dangerous for regular folks like Husk during their everyday lives. Her name was Cherri Bomb and her M.O. was winning street fights by indiscriminately tossing bombs everywhere.

And that’s how he met his ‘end’. He had been down at the bar and a bomb had broken through a window in the studio up above. A literal piano had fallen on his head. Some fucking Warner Brothers bullshit.

He had the pleasure of finding out that the radio demon hadn’t lied about the pain of regenerating either. No, Alastor had been unfortunately truthful and upfront about the realities of hell. On one hand, this let him trust the guy a little more. On the other, he had hoped he was embellishing a bit.

Still, the Radio Demon had somehow made good on his other promise as Husk woke up a few weeks later, good as new (minus a few new mental scars) in his own bed. A note of the fridge said, _“For this, I will be asking a larger favour soon.”_

Honestly, done and done. He owed him for this. He wasn’t sure exactly how Alastor had known to come and get him but there were just some things about the Radio Demon you just don’t question. He spent the next few days recovering from the mental fatigue of having consciously just endured the pain of every molecule of his flattened head restructuring themselves. By recovering, he meant drinking himself into a stupor and not leaving the house- doing everything ill-advised for someone recovering from trauma.

A week later, he was summoned for his largest battle yet. Along with possibly every other contract holder Alastor had on retainer. They were practically an all-out militia, and they were standing outside of the porn studios.

It was the literal last place he’d ever expected Alastor to set foot in if he was being honest. Well, he supposed that was why they were there.

“Gentlemen!” Alastor said triumphantly, marching in a linear fashion in front of his assorted slaves. “And you too of course, Niffty-doll,” he added, a tiny little demon in a poodle skirt waved giddily, looking woefully out of place. “Have I a task for you all today!” Alastor announced.

The young girl clapped a little and squealed. “This is going to be so much fun,” She said as an aside to the confused monkey-demon next to her, not quiet enough to not be heard by all. “Alastor’s never had me out on fieldwork before- I’m so happy to meet you all! We're going to have so much fun!" Her amber eye sparkled innocently and Husk found himself being annoyed at Alastor for bringing her to this kind of place- despite her optimism. ( _because_ of her optimism)

She was mostly ignored as no one wanted to get caught not listening to the radio demon.

“That's the spirit darling!" Alaster agreed. "I need you all to put on your best faces, go in there, and just cause the best riot you can! Make a real wingding out of it!” 

The demons all nodded silently- except Husk. He was already resolved to follow through on the orders but he loved to be a shit about it. He rose a hand.

“Ah yes! A question! Very diligent of you, Husker! What can I answer?” The Radio Demon asked.

_“Why?”_

Alastor laughed, “It doesn’t matter! Now go on and play my dear friends!”

The army charged into the building with a rather embarrassingly serious war cry (that Husk did not partake in).

The next fifteen minutes proceeded to roll by in complete pandemonium. Demons from both sides were running up and down the halls in an utterly confused manner. There was screaming of course. _His poor ears_ , why was there _always_ screaming? TV screens were smashed, computers toppled and bones broken all over the place. It was a mess.

He had been forced to run amok through quite a few recording sessions that would probably be burned into his retinas for all eternity. 

In one particular circumstance, Niffty had followed in just shortly on his tail where they came across a succubus laying bare on a large queen bed, legs stretched apart for all of the world to see. A number of _objects_ were strewn around her.

“What the ‘ell youse doin’?” She asked in outrage. It must be noted that she made absolutely no attempt whatsoever to cover herself, Husk may have extended a wing to obscure the younger demon behind him's view although the action came too late.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” he heard the little voice chirp and suddenly his wing was shoved aside as Niffty bolted onto the bed. The succubus at least had enough decency to pull her legs together in alarm. “This is so dirty!” Niffy exclaimed.

The succubus glowered. “Itssa livin’ okay? I ain’t need yer prude-ass-“

“When were these last cleaned?” Niffty asked in horror gesturing to the toys that lay haphazardly dangling off the bedside and onto a floor that had not appeared to have been swept for a while. “Goodness! Would you really ***** that into your ***** or ***** ***** *****? Your ****** could get ****** with infection and then it could ***************************************************-”

Well he supposed she wasn’t so innocent after all. The succubus scooched away from the bright-eyed girl and her tirade of questions until her back was up against the headboard.

“Oh my!” Niffty said and shook her head in horror. “No, no! This won’t do at all!”

She began to power clean the studio under some strange compulsion, ignoring a very confused porn star and camera crew. A few production members tried to grab her but she was too nimble and ended up stepping over them to get to the harder to reach places.

Husk figured he could just move on. She had things handled here.

He half-heartedly knocked over a refreshment stand on the way out to meet his quota. Although he supposed that was about to be promptly cleaned up during hurricane Niffty.

He mostly just wandered the building causally with the urgency of a tourist with nowhere special to be. (one who was trying his damned hardest NOT to take in the sights)

Occasionally, he’d kick a water cooler or something and he stole someone’s lunch from the fridge in the fifth-floor office kitchenette which was _kind of devious_?

The other guys were really pulling all of the weight on this one. Sparks flew as fluorescent light bulbs exploded and a man ran past the winged cat on fire.

That was when Husk noticed a door down a non-descript hallway no one else had seemed to have gone into yet.

Finishing the last of the tuna salad sandwich (Was tuna always this good? DAMN. His cat tongue lapped at his claws), he decided to check it out.

The room inside looked like any of the other studios except for a few key differences.

  1. Instead of random gadgets for ‘pleasure’ the room was literally stocked with torture devices. Some he wasn’t even sure what they were supposed to be but they were COVERED in spikes.
  2. There was a dark glass along one side of the room that he had assumed was a one-way window. There was likely a viewing room on the other side. (Sick bastards)
  3. Cherri Bomb herself was strapped to a hospital bed in the center of the room, struggling against her restraints like a feral animal.



“The _fuck_ is this supposed to be?” Husk heard himself say even though the image was pretty self-explanatory.

“They’re planning on filming a cute wholesome chick flick,” Cherri said sarcastically. “So you part of the noise outside old man? Or did they actually send in a fucked up carebear to do my torturing? Holy shit, you even have the same nose as my little bro’s sleepytime bear!”

She laughed at him mockingly and he was just a little bewildered that he’d only been dead a decade and already most references from the newly descended now went entirely over his head.

“Did you finally mess with someone you shouldn’t have?” He asked. “You’ve been making the afterlife hell in hell for a lot of us recently.”

He wandered over to the torture rack and tried to find something he could use.

“Well if you can’t handle the fire, you shouldn’t have gotten yourself sent down here in the first place, fucktard!” She replied.

He found a pair of oversized tweezers and walked over to her side. Her one eye was watching the instrument in his hands wearily, but to not show her apprehension, she spat at him- a warm mixture that unfortunately landed on his arm. Oh well, he’d been covered in worse.

“You haven’t been here long enough to know just how painful dying and recovering down here is,” he said, ignoring the fact that he’d only just had his first time himself. “I died in your last bombing spree and it took weeks for my body to reform. You feel it the whole time you know. It wasn’t quick and the over like dying on Earth. Whatever they were going to do to you here," he said gesturing to the torture room, "it would probably never compare.”

“So you’re here to get revenge or some shit?” Her eye narrowed. 

Up-close he realized her clothes were in utter disarray. Her shirt had been stretched and ripped, and her pants were torn to shreds. Something seethed in his chest. “Did they touch you kid?”

“No, not yet.”

“But they ripped up yer… outfit.”

She looked at him in disbelief and then laughed. “Psshhhh, it’s called distressed fashion pops!”

He looked at her as if she had one eye… oh wait. Why were all the crazy young ones always cyclops? He muttered something under his breath about young people these days and their crazy disco clothes like the old man he was but his words angered her to a point of yelling.

“DISCO? Disco’s dead grandpa! This look is totally glam rock. K? If you call my look disco again I’ll blow you to bits!” Then she smiled slyly, “Again.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Husk muttered and he used the tweezers to break apart her bindings.

Now she was surprised. “W-wait what?” She tried to keep up her delinquent-sneer but his actions had left her dumbfounded. “Why’d you…?”

“Go be free you little monster,” he said.

“But…” She sat up and looked around dumbly. “This is a setup right? People don’t just… help people down here… didn’t you want _revenge_?”

“To much work to hold a grudge,” Husk shrugged. “Hate to break it to ya, but I just don’t think about you that much.”

She looked at him with a blank expression. Then she burst out laughing harder than she ever had before. Doubling over even. “What?” She asked between fits of howling. “Are you trying to play hero down here in hell? Do you think you’re a _good guy_? Satan, you really are a carebear! How do you even fight? Do you use your stare?”

Husk just turned away from her, found a medieval mace on the torture rack and shattered the glass to the viewing room. There was no one in there, but just as he expected, there was some VIP quality wine sitting by some recliners.

Before he could reach over, the door he’d originally entered in through was blown off of its hinges.

“Freeze you sadistic doll-dizzy fuddy-duddy ancient fuckface!” It was the spider demon who was plastered on the front of every studio poster, and he was holding four pistols and using his remaining two hands just to flip Husk off.

“Woah there,” Husk said slowly, lifting his arms in surrender.

“Cherri, you all good?” The pink spider asked with a surprising amount of concern. “Shit’s going down out there, I thought this’d be a good time to getchu out, Babe.”

Husk made a slight move while he thought the other man was distracted but his fingers quickly tensed on the triggers as he said, “Hang on there a sec, _bitch_ \- or you know, whatever the cat equalivant is.”

“WOAH,” Cherri said in alarm and quickly waved her hands. “Wait, he’s cool.”

“What?” The spider asked turning to her incredulously and letting all but one gun drop limply to his sides.

“He’s cool okay? Let’s just… go,” she muttered begrudgingly.

“If you say so…” Now he just looked to be at a loss. “Isn’t this guy, like, attacking the studio or something? Doesn’t he have ta kill us?”

Seeing the danger was over, Husk went back to his original task of trying to reach through the broken window without scratching himself on the glass.

There were three bottles… but he only had two hands.

He tossed one over to the ‘glam rocker’ who caught it in surprise and he double-fisted the other two.

“All I’ve been ordered to do is cause a mess. So I’ll let you two go and have a fun night somewhere safe as long as you promise to drop a few bombs here and there on the way out.” 

Cherri looked down at the wine, over to her spider friend and finally back to Husk as she grinned madly. “HELL YEAH.”

The two went dashing out a second later with a quick “Later pops!”

Then the spider peaked back in and gave him a quick up and down glance that was STARTLINGLY lascivious.

“You know stud, yer not too bad a looker,” he slid up to the cat demon gracefully and fussed with his shoulder fur flirtatiously as his other set of hands reached into his coat pocket and procured a business card.

 _Angel Dust_.

“Call me if you ever wanna have a good time, soldier.” Angel winked at him and then quickly ran back out after his pal.

Husk promptly threw the card out in the trash without a second thought.

He hadn’t expected how _enthusiastically_ Cherri would fulfill his request. Within a minute the entire building was falling apart.

He had to fly out a window to escape in time.

The remaining members of Alastor’s army as well as various studio employees were fleeing out the front doors.

Husk landed a ways away where a few of the others were congregating. Niffty was there, squealing excitedly. “That was so fun! I hope I get to come along again sometime! OOOoo! I’ve got a lot of new ideas for my stories too! I had no idea some of the things two men can do together in place of-“

“Does this broad ever SHUT UP?” A lizard demon standing next to her yelled up to the heavens.

Niffty was promptly quieted by this. She even looked a little dejected, grasping at her arm and kicking at the dirt.

It was strange that while the man was shouting at the sky, he didn’t notice the falling chunk of debris.

Husk’s hands were full with the two wine bottle but Niffty was small and light enough to tug away with only the hook of a single claw. A second later a letter of the ‘Porn studio’ sign completely flattened the lizard.

Niffy just stared at where she had been standing a second ago in shock.

“That’ll take him a few weeks,” Husk said gruffly. “Don’t I know it.”

Niffty looked at him in awe for a second.

“What?”

She quickly hugged his leg tightly and nestled her face in his fur.

Then she let go and looked back at the sign before struggling to repress a few giggles. “One could say…” she started, “he just got hammered by a very massive _D_.”

“Goddammit kid,” He sighed.

He attempted pitifully to uncork a bottle with his claw but was unsuccessful in the endeavour.

Alastor flickered behind them and gripped at both of their shoulders. Niffty beamed at the boss and Husk just gave an annoyed glance at the offending hand.

“A great success!” The Radio Demon cheered and then noticed the bottles in Husk’s paws. He laughed. “Oh Husker, I see you were slacking off as always! You old cat!” He forcibly ruffled his head fur such that his hat fell off and Husk only scowled more.

“Oh,” said Alastor with some interest and he grabbed one of the bottles. “This looks like a fine Cabernet Sauvignon, very unlike the moonshine you usually guzzle old friend. Perhaps I will join you.”

Husk didn’t bother protesting, Alastor would get what Alastor wanted. With a flick of his hand, a classy outdoor table with three chairs and three glasses appeared and the overlord waved a corkscrew. “Shall we?” 

“Screw it,” Husk agreed.

The three ended up having a rather pleasant drink as their enemies fell behind them in the wreckage of the burning building.

Sometimes self-care was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glee is cancelled. This is the new unholy trinity.  
> I know I should wait a day to post so that I can properly proofread but my God I couldn't wait. If you got in here before I re-edited, it's just the price you pay for getting in early XD


	4. Chapter 4

He hadn’t realized it at the time, but that Niffty girl had imprinted on him that day like a new-born chick onto its mother. They had gone their separate ways after the events of the porn district without so much as a good-bye. Something he usually interpreted as _‘we will never meet again’_ but clearly something she meant as _‘we will see each other again so soon that there’s no point’_. He was certainly surprised one morning, a week later, to have woken up to the sound of a vacuum.

It had been early enough that he was still a little drunk from the night before. This of course, only added to his sleep-deprived and disoriented confusion.

He had to _pry_ his bleary eyes open to stare, uncomprehendingly, at the flip clock on his end table. No sane person vacuumed in an apartment complex at five AM. Was he reading it wrong? Had he slept all the way until five PM? (again?) Or more likely, maybe the battery in the clock died again?

He had invested in some intense blackout curtains for his room to support his night-owl tendencies. There was no way of judging anything from that almost non-existent sliver of light between the drapes and the wall. If he wanted to solve this mystery, he would have to get up. 

Hell no to that thought.

It didn’t really matter either way, he had nowhere to be at any specific time. He put a pillow over his head and was content to leave consciousness again.

No dice.

It was Too. Fucking. Loud. 

He groggily fell out of bed and slithered to the window, lifting the corner of the curtain up as he squinted at the meager light outside. The sky was a soft baby pink, a shade that only existed in hell’s early mornings.

Satan, _WHY?_ What was with this sound? It sounded so close it was as if it was coming from his own apartment. Was it his neighbours? The walls _were_ pretty thin but it seemed virtually impossible. Those heathens had never cleaned a day in their life if all of the unmentionable things that crawled in from their suite to his was anything to go off of.

Considering his own apartment was just storage at this point for the world's largest collection of empty and rancid-smelling bottles, he didn’t really have the right to judge their habits but was of that age where he felt he did anyway.

He also thought he had the right to feel indignant that they _happened_ to chose to ‘get their afterlives together’ a morning after he had been out drinking- selectively barring from his head the fact that every morning was a morning after he had been out drinking.

Regardless, he stumbled out of his bedroom with wobblily dizzied steps ready to knock angrily on their adjoining wall, only to find a very energetic blur of motion whizzing through the living room, furiously running a vacuum over the poorly abused and torn-up rug. (He had a tendency to get a bit more cat-ish when he was plastered) A massive trash bag full of take-out containers sat by the door next to his vast assortment of bottles, each having been cleaned out and stacked neatly to go out for recycling.

The streak paused to acknowledge him. The form of Niffty waving at him enthusiastically did not cause any fewer questions in his mind.

“Husk! Good morning!” She pointed over to the window, “Look what I managed to do! I turned some of your old bottles into flower vases! Doesn’t it look cute?”

His drunk-ass just stared at her, so dumbstruck that the more logical responses of _‘how did you know where I lived’_ or _‘what are you doing here’_ was replaced with,

“Morning?” Then, with extreme delayed reaction, he glanced over to the window to see a tasteful array of different sized bottles filled with daisies on the sill. “Sure…”

Still obedient in his stupor, she got him to dolefully take out the trash before the day's hangover finally hit him like a brick and he rightfully marched back up and kicked her out.

It was probably a little mean to someone who was ‘helping’ him but at that moment, all of her excited chirping felt like a machine-gun to the skull and he had just needed her gone.

He felt a little bad later after he’d recovered a bit…. For a moment. Then he got over it all pretty fast.

He didn’t expect her to be back the next week.

Or the next after that.

The pattern continued on for years until he was certain she was a permanent fixture.

She wasn’t regular with what time of day she appeared.

When she showed up the mornings, he’d usually be pretty unresponsive. He’d drag himself resigned and nauseous from bed to plop at the kitchen table to watch her lethargically, face pressed into the cool wood. Still, as long as he wasn’t in an especially terrible mood, he would somewhat listen along as she’d babble on and even nod his head here and there until she left.

When she came in the afternoons, he was a little nicer, usually choosing to sit at the couch, the most central piece of furniture, so she could natter at him no matter where she was working. He still wouldn’t talk too much. He’d usually at least keep up the illusion that he wasn’t listening by either fiddling with magic tricks or holding a book. She probably saw through it though given how he’d occasionally give a surprisingly insightful response here and there.

One would wonder why she even still bothered showing up in the mornings given these dramatically different receptions. Maybe she was hoping and holding out for one of those especially rare, once-every-few-years occasions where he was somehow sober and clear-headed enough to take her out to lunch when she did her self-imposed chores.

He had to agree. Those were really good days. Some of his best down here in the great abyss. So good he would briefly consider laying off the bottles. He never managed to do so though. Such was his punishment in hell, to succumb again and again to his own mortal sins. He loved those days but he sure hated himself more than ever on those proceeding nights when the ales in his fridge sang their un-ignorable siren songs.

There was only one time she came in the evening. As the stars aligned, he was good and buzzed and ready to hit the town and almost joyfully whisked her along to poker night. She had the worst poker face he had ever seen but it was still… kind of fun.

He never put too much value in money anyway. He had only ever made it in the past with the full intent to lose or spend it. Watching the boys try to make heads or tails of the odd creature that was Niffty had been worth every penny he’d lost. Although he’d never tell her that and instead chose to grumble about it from time to time.

Why couldn’t he just admit he had fun? Why was he like that? Niffty had never showed up in an evening again and he was scared it was because he made her feel bad. The more likely reason was that she was a day-person but he had a tendency to ruminate over things until he’d come up with the worst possible explanations.

Then he’d bask in his daily dose of self-loathing.

Then he would drink.

He wished he could be better for her sometimes.

Don’t get him wrong, she was absolutely a psychopath who belonged down here in the fiery pits for sure. He had a creeping suspicion for the longest time that she was the one who kept murdering his hoarder neighbours. Literally cutting his place’s roach problem at its core. His suspicions had eventually been confirmed that one time he spotted her from his window, the night before an extermination day, covered in blood and hauling a few suspiciously large and squirming trash bags onto the street.

He never saw his neighbours again. New, cleaner people moved in.

But what was a few well-intentioned homicides really? As far as a denizen of hell went, the girl was a saint. She was much too good and much too patient for a cantankerous old-timer like himself. She deserved a friend who’d do more than the bare minimum of listening to her monologuing to herself.

By what was probably around the 90s in Earth years, (time was getting confusing) Alastor’s jobs began to ramp up in frequency and difficulty. Certainly, there were more all-hands-on-deck types of outings like that porn studio job now. The world up above was getting more peaceful, which surprisingly had the opposite effect down in hell. Peace allowed people to be stupid and this new generation of war-illiterate demons lead to a much higher turnover of territory owners.

A demon’s power seemed somewhat related to the general heinousness and impact of his actions on Earth coupled with a few more unknown factors. The expansion of the internet and continued growth of capitalism aided in creating some pretty powerful demons as smaller crimes like door-to-door fraud expanded to large-scale internet scams. Yet none of these demons knew war-strategy.

While they could blunt-force their way to the top, they did not have the cunning or skill sets to hold their power leading to constant upheavals.

Alastor _outwardly_ seemed happier than ever, relishing in the opportunity to poke at the precariously picked at jenga tower that was hell’s lower caste system just to watch everybody else sweat nervously.

‘Outwardly’ was a keyword though. Husk wasn’t buying it. Twenty years of working under him, one had BETTER HOPE he’d figured out how to read the man at least a little. He was practically a professional poker player, it was his JOB to know how to read people.

He had never once seen his grin drop but Alastor was expressive as hell in other ways. His eyes for one, but also his posture. He was surprisingly deer-like in that regard. If his attention was snatched by anything, his body would straighten, and his head would snap to it an instant. It was kind of ~~adorable~~ _creepy_ , he meant creepy.

Husk hadn’t seen these _creepy_ animalistic gestures from his boss for a few years now. So _sure_ he had the others fooled with his showman’s persona and the way he would twirl this microphone around like a baton, but Husk knew his heart wasn’t in it anymore. Nothing caught his attention and he was clearly just going through the motions, ramping up his activity to disguise his increasing listlessness.

Yes, he would say Alastor was finally getting bored. While hell seemed chaotic, after over half a century, even the flaming shitstorm of his everyday life was probably getting to be somewhat routine for the radio demon.

Husk might even have felt a little bad for the guy if he hadn’t made it HIS problem. It was his contract-holders that had to suffer in the end.

He never gave a flying fuck about turf wars and had appreciated that Alastor had used to feel the same. Now he, Niffty and the others he didn’t care about were getting caught in fights between overlords pretty much weekly on the Radio demon’s slightest whims.

This particular week had been just another of many messy situations Husk continuously now found himself in.

He and Niffty were chained to their chairs, hands cuffed behind their backs as their captors, two Russian-speaking demons who had no idea that he spoke Russian, squabbled.

“ _He’s not talking!”_ The one that looked like jacked lemming said throwing his arms up in frustration. His body was mostly muscle with very little neck and Husk found the rodent almost painful to look at.

 _“Then we’ll try the girl!”_ The much larger and bulking bear demon said.

 _“You know how I feel about torturing chicks!”_ The lemming said. _“We talked about it this week in therapy! This is what I meant when I said you never respect my boundaries!”_

The bear growled. _“I am listening to you and I hear you. I apologize as I now realize I was ignoring your personal values.”_

_“I thank you for saying that, I feel validated.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you too.”_

Fucking nineties demons.

This is exactly the direction he thought seventies new age ‘parenting’ was going to take them.

 _“I don’t understand who these two could even be,”_ the Flemming sighed. _“They don’t look like much, definitely not like the kind of demons another overlord would send.”_

 _“Could be anyone,”_ the bear shrugged _. “Everybody seems to be after the boss’ book. Don’t know why, looks dry as shit.”_

A book? Was that why they were there? Alastor had the frustrating habit of never explaining ANYTHING. Each of them were just cogs to him in whatever his greater purpose was so he never really felt the need to fill them in on anything other than their individual parts of his master plan.

The two demons spun on Husk and Niffty and now spoke in English.

“I’ll ask one more time, who do you work for?” The bear shouted. He punched Husk in the stomach for good measure and the cat demon wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him. “Who sent you?!”

Husk just stared blankly at him, without the breath to speak even if he wanted to. _Idiot._

The bear’s eyes narrowed. “Fine we shall retrieve some tools that can _help_ _you loosen those lips._ ”

The demons exited and Husked sighed. Like hell he was going to be around for that. With a flourish, his handcuffs fell to the ground, the chains a second later. He was a damn good magician after all and this was amateur hour.

There was a light pattering of applause from Niffty as she clapped her bound hands together and Husk gave a flat-faced bow, releasing her a second later.

“Are you okay Husk? You got pretty roughed up back there,” she said.

“It’s fine,” Husk grunted. Really, in some ways, this was a good thing. He had been starting to worry that Alastor might get suspicious if he and Niffty were always the only two to come out of every scheme unscathed. He was always quite happy being given the lowest-level tasks and wasn’t keen on a promotion.

They exited the abandoned office complex’s make-shift interrogation room and stealthed their way down a long hallway. Of course, with one of them being a cat and one of them being too light to make actual footsteps, ‘steathing’ was no different than regular striding.

When they heard the men approaching back, Husk swiftly pulled Niffty into a closet and shoved a paw over her mouth.

_“Did you put it in the safe like I told you?”_

_“Yeah, the one in the boss’ office? Don’t you think it's a stupid idea though to have it so close to where we’re interrogating the prisoners?”_

_“Even if they somehow escaped, its not like they’d be able to crack the state of the art lock."_

It was never Husk’s intentions to be a star-employee but when everyone made it This. Fucking. Easy… Guess he was going to have to save this dumb-ass operation again. 

The office was just on the other end of the hall. Inside of it, one of Alastor’s newer enlisted souls was rummaging through a desk drawer.

Husk sighed. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the book! Aren’t you two supposed to be distracting them or something?” The demon asked in annoyance.

“We’ve held them off for long enough,” Husk said. “Clearly we could give you another couple hours and you would still never find the damn thing. I don't feel like having to regenerate my teeth this week.”

“Hey,” the Demon said, “I’m doing my best okay?”

“Yet you didn’t think that maybe the ‘super valuable item’ we’re looking for could be in that safe over there?” Husk asked pointing at a large safe in the corner.

The demon laughed. “I don’t know who decides to put a _book_ in a safe but if it’s in there, this mission is as good as caput. You wouldn’t know this old man, but that baby over there is new tec, nearly uncrackable.” The other infuriating thing about these younger demons was that they always thought they were smarter, ' _being from the future and all'._ That wasn't how it worked.

Husk looked at it blankly, as the demon yattered on about the art of code breaking of some shit. A few moments later the thing was hurdled out the window where it fell two stories and busted open.

“Would you look at that,” Husk said, putting a hand over his forehead to block the non-existent sun. Gravity won again. “Maybe uncrackable but not undentable.” 

There was a thick, old looking book sprawled out on the grass a few meters from where it must have flew from the safe. “And there it is Lady and Gentleman,” Husk gestured and tipped his magician's hat.

Niffty politely clapped again but the other demon just glared at him.

“You don’t have to be so fucking condescending.”

“Don’t mention it,” Husk said. “Anyway that was pretty damn loud you should probably go get that before any others…” He trailed off as he noticed a few outsiders approach the fallen safe, enticed by the other riches it stored.

He swiftly pushed the demon out the window and he fell flat onto the book down below, hopefully laying claim to it.

Him and Niffty watched for a moment before the demon slowly began to painfully stir.

“He’s fine,” Husk said. “Mission’s done, we can go now.”

Husk and Niffty exited at a more leisurely pace through the building’s back doors, not caring to get caught up in the increasing pandemonium the open safe of treasures was causing.

Eventually, they regrouped with Alastor and the other contracted demons.

Alastor ran his hand along the spine of the book reverently, happier than he'd seen him for a while. "Well folks, this ended up being quite the successful endeavour. I've got so many _entertaining_ ideas for what we might do with this..."

“Absolutely, _fucking_ not!” A grandiose voice proclaimed.

They all turned.

LUCIFER himself strolled up behind them with his own small assembly.

Husk sent the radio demon an accusatory 'what have you done' glare. Their deal of 'protection' was already becoming kind of warped with how many overlord shitlists he was getting forced onto but once they started involving THE KING OF HELL, Husk was going to have to sit Alastor down and re-go over the terms of their agreement.

Lucifer was smiling cordially but the way his eyebrows scrunched made him look rather irritated. “Alastor, it has been some time.”

Alastor comically hid the large tomb behind his back, a fruitless endeavour given his waist was thinner than a broomstick handle. Husk couldn't tell if he was being serious or playing the action for laughs.

Lucifer watched the gesture with narrowed eyes. “I see you retrieved our book for us, I ought to thank you.”

"I do not know what you are talking about, my kind fellow,": Alastor said evenly.

“I mean, surely you aren’t intending on keeping that to yourself? We made it very clear after that last debacle it was never to return to your ownership,” Lucifer said, fiddling idly with the apple-shaped handle of his cane.

Alastor released a 'pssh' of air and shrugged his shoulders innocently. “I would hardly call those events a debacle.”

“You turned the Maldonian prince into a frog.”

“Well technically **_I_** didn’t do that. That was entirely the actions of a passing _acquaintance_ on the oth-“

“Tell me Blitz-o,” Lucifer said calmly, not bothering to even turn and look at his imp servant, eyes still trained on Alastor intimidatingly. “You’ve worked for me for a few years now, what do I always say?”

The imp hunched over nervously and wrung his hands. “You… don’t take shit from other demons sir,” The Imp answered obediently but then muttered under his breath, “It’s Blitzo, the o is sil-”

“Exactly right,” Lucifer said with a grin and smug expression that rivalled Alastor’s on his best day. Then he let the grin drop and the result was terrifying. “I’m not taking your shit radio demon. Hand over the book now.”

The most shocking thing Husk had ever seen was Alastor begrudgingly handing over the book to the king’s outstretched hand.

While he was relieved to not be going to war with all of hell, it still was bone-chilling to watch his protector submit to anyone.

“I will be putting this into the care of one of my most trusted Goetial Demons. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the addition to his library.” Lucifer said, glancing at the book in his hands as if it were the most boring object he had ever seen. Then he looked back at Alastor again, his cherub form slowly twisting and morphing into something sinister and devilish. “And if I ever see you with this book again, you will be ripped into so many pieces and strewn about such a wide radius that even the angels will have difficulty finding _every_ piece by extermination time.”

Alastor’s grin did not falter an inch but his eyes narrowed. He was very displeased.

As the royal party left, the king’s servant reached up towards the fallen angel. “That looks heavy sir, would you like me to carry it?”

A cane pushed the lowly creature away in a disgusted gesture. “Back off, imp.”

The imp grumbled something probably only Husk could hear with his keen senses about “Royal privileged fucks,” while he continued to eye the book.

“That was a shame,” Alastor finally said. "Well, I do have some other ideas..."

Husk facepalmed loudly which an audible slap to the forehead and wheeled on the Radio Demon to scream his objections but the words died in his throat.

He just looked so... lost. His grin so small it almost looked human-shaped, eyes un-focoused towards the horizon.

Well... these 'missions' were inconvenient but Husk supposed he could bare a couple more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to Lucifer, some radiohusk development will come by the next chapter. There was just so much groundwork to lay first.
> 
> I realize that the timeline of the princess and the frog don't match up with Alastor's death date, but I also don't care XD


	5. Chapter 5

Niffty hurried around the apartment at an unnecessarily frantic pace, focused intently on gathering all of the dirty dishes. How did this place always get so messy within a week? What would Husk ever do without her? How did he survive all of those years before their meeting?

The first time she had ever entered his apartment she realized he was a man who NEEDED a woman in his life at least to some capacity. The poor thing had no idea how to care for himself!

At that thought she paused in her work to check on Husk. She had seen him drunk before, but _never_ this drunk. He only seemed half-conscious, sprawled on his back across the couch with an uncharacteristically goofy smile, pawing lackadaisically at a nearly empty bottle he had cradled lovingly between his rib and arm.

It was like watching a baby with an open cup of juice, she was so very concerned about it spilling over at any second onto the cushions that it was hard to not keep glancing over nervously. He clearly didn’t have the faculty over himself not to eventually tip bottle over, it was just a question of when. She had tried to pull it away from him when she had thought he was dozing off but he quickly woke up and squat at her with a hiss.

A literal hiss.

Of the many strange days she had experienced down in hell this one was up there.

He was so inebriated he was literally just running now on his feline instincts. At least he couldn’t seem to figure out how to drink anymore, so he couldn’t do any more damage to himself. He lapped his tongue at the head of the bottle and tried to shove his snout into the tiny hole.

Yes, he was just an overgrown cat right now.

It might have been cute, but she found herself feeling disappointed instead. Talking to Husk was usually the highlight of her week. It really was too bad, there was so much she had wanted to tell him! Like her run-in with the lady at Hellmart or the AMAZING deal she got on toilet paper last night! It was so cheap she took it upon herself to restock his supplies too!

Still… the poor dear… he was probably still recovering from that interrogation session from the other day. It was hard to see under that thick coat of fur, but his skin was no doubt a patchwork of fading yellow bruises given how hard he had let them hit him. She didn’t always approve of his drinking habits but begrudgingly admitted that he was more than warranted this time around… It didn’t mean she wasn’t kind of sad to have no one to talk to though.

She knew that most of the time it was just her running her mouth anyway, but she loved the way he never stopped listening. Most folks would either tell her to be quiet or tune her out after fifteen minutes.

Not Husk, no matter how long she rambled on, he’d always listen to her right until the end- even if he pretended not to.

There was something about the way he’d patiently sit through her talking an hour about her favourite methods to clean up coffee stains that had her slowly finding herself opening up more and more to him about the less superficial topics she had thought she wanted to leave behind with her human body.

Like a magician pulling a continuous rope of colourful handkerchiefs out of a hat he somehow had her telling him about _everything_ through the years. She’d never forget the day she had been talking about tea flavours… which transitioned to how she used to make tea for her mother back on Earth and suddenly the flood gates had broken open. She found herself spilling out a mile a minute every thought and feeling she had about growing up in Idaho as the only half-Japanese kid in her town during WWII.

She told him about her dreams of being the perfect housewife- a desire that hadn’t died even in death. She idolized those perfect and put-together women in the advertisements of her time. She aspired to be just like them, choosing to be entirely deaf to younger demons telling her that they were ‘problematic’.

She had thought that it all had been in her grasp once.

There had been a boy once who didn’t mind she wasn’t fully white and always told her she was nifty. From their first kiss, she was already seeing visions of white picket fences and a lifetime of quick loving pecks when he’d return home from work to spend time with her and the children.

But then a year or so out of high school there was still no proposal and that’s when she had found out about the other girls…

That was the day she learned that sometimes people could be trash too... and ever the diligent housewife-in-training, she knew exactly how to dispose of trash.

Husk was the only demon in all of hell who knew what her sin was.

The only part of her life that she hadn’t told him about was her death. The exact details of how town retaliated following her revenge on the former football star. Some of the anti-Japanese sentiments had faded by that time but they were dead in the middle of the Korean war and so she was still a target of hatred by her “general exoticness”.

She liked that Husk hadn’t bat an eye at it. The 'exoticism' she meant. She knew he had been in an eastern war and had the silly notion earlier on that some of the deep-seated-prejudice that ruled the surface world would trickle over to how he perceived her. A ridiculous notiotion in the first place given neither of them were even in their original bodies and one was now a cat-bird and the other, a tiny cyclops.

Instead, talking about her long-departed life only made her feel closer to him.

She really was disappointed they wouldn’t be able to have a conversation today. She held everything in for a week now- she only visited him once a week as a self-imposed rule. She knew she could be exhausting… she never wanted Husk to grow sick of her.

Out of habit, she found herself talking to the empty husk of Husk anyway about every idle thought that passed her mind with anxious desperation. It wasn’t the same, but it was better than working in silence.

The kitchen/living room was nearing spotless as she finished up talking about the weather today and how it was funny that there were so many nice days in hell and how she was thinking about taking a walk later in the evening along the river Styx.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?” Niffty asked with a grin.

Husk looked at her vacantly and nuzzled into the cushions but didn’t reply and her heart fell a little even though she thought that she had been joking. “Well I guess I can go alone…”

Her melancholy didn’t last long as she hoped over onto the couch, her body being small enough to fit comfortably on the edge of the seat even though Husk was taking up most of the room. The bottom feathers of his wings tickled at her legs. “Maybe I’ll have a meet-cute with a handsome gentleman!” She said excitedly. “Wouldn’t that be so romantic to meet by the water?” Her smile dimmed a shade. “I’ve been searching for my prince for such a long time… he should know it’s not very gentlemanly to keep lady waiting.”

If Husk were more sober he might have said something brisk but comforting. Like insult her ‘dumbass soulmate for sitting on his ass’. Instead, his tail wrapped around her shoulders playfully but deaf to her comment and she sighed, turning to face away from him before falling back to lean into his fur.

It really wasn’t the same. She hoped he’d recover soon.

It seemed none of her friends were doing very well. Alastor was also getting rather gloomy and hard to talk to. She had been his live-in maid since practically her spawn-date and she had never seen him like this before. Alternating between being overly restless and then sulking in his room for days. He wasn’t good conversation anymore either.

She felt so useless as everyone around her was slowly getting more and more miserable.

And beyond that, she felt very, very lonely.

So this was hell? She was starting to understand it a bit now.

Maybe since Husk didn’t even know she was here she could break her rule and come back a second time this week? She could leave a little bit of the cleaning undone as an excuse to come back…

Easier said than done. She tried to sit on her idle hands to weigh them down and prevent them from succumbing to her OCD.

Still leaning into his soft torso she turned her head to look at the other demon. “How come I still don’t know anything about you? Were you ever in love Husk?”

It was hard to picture him with a wife, she was pretty certain he’d never had one but it was Husk and who could say?

There was predictably, no response.

She needed to leave before the compulsion to finish cleaning overtook her. Maybe if she closed her eyes she could make it out the door.

Unfortunately, the radio on the mantle had already caught her eye as the thought to exit crossed her mind.

It

Was

Dusty!

Oh goodness. Could she resist?

She attempted to gather up her stuff and exit his apartment and even managed to close the door behind her as she reached for the key she had copied without permission to lock up. It was a rough neighbourhood and Husk was in no condition to protect himself.

She thought about those hideous specks of dust sitting on the appliance as she started to click the lock closed.

Walking down the hall she thought about the horrible lint making his apartment all dry and stuffy and poor Husk sneezing as the disgusting detritus went airborn and into his heart-shaped little nose.

As she made her way down the stairwell she thought about how nice it would feel to run a cloth over the smooth surface of the device and see the deep cherry wood gleam.

As she made it out of the building doors she looked up at a massive board with a spider demon winking suggestively and the name ANGEL DUST and all she saw was the word DUST.

DUST

DuSt.

Moments later, Husk’s front doors slammed open and Niffty sprinted to the radio and got to work tidying it up.

She wiped furiously at the delicate contraption, making sure to get the feathers of her duster to reach the many decorative crevices. She hadn’t noticed in her flurry that her motion was turning the dial.

Inevitably, the dial was switched up to 66.6 and radio static filled the air, no longer just coming from the old grainy speakers. A moment later Alastor stood in the room glancing around as if half-heartedly solving a puzzle.

When he spotted Niffty with the radio he grinned. “Ah Niffty dear! I was wondering what that sound was, I was assuming one of my contract holders was being brutalized with all the loud rustling in my ear-I see you were just dusting.”

“Alastor! Hi!” She squeaked in glee. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you, I think I might have gotten a bit carried away again!”

“Well, it if was anyone else I’d chastise them for wasting my time but I can make allowances for my favourites,” he glanced around the room curiously now. “I didn’t know you had your own place outside of my abode.”

“This is Husk’s home!” She said.

“Ah Husker the old boy!” He had first apparated behind the couch and the furniture’s back obscured his view of the lazing cat demon. “I hadn’t realized you two were this close. I can’t say I’ve been here before, I don’t believe he’s ever called on me.”

She wasn’t too surprised at that. She always got the sense Husk preferred to avoid Alastor. She couldn’t exactly figure out why, he didn’t seem to be scared of him given how freely he’d banter with the boss. Did he hate him then? It seemed like the most likely conclusion but that didn’t seem right either…

If she were Husk, she’d feel a little bad that nothing he did ever got recognized. He either didn’t care or pretended he didn’t when other demons always got the credit for everything he did. Yet he never made any attempt to bring something to Alastor himself. Niffty was ashamed to admit that she never fully learned how to figure him out.

Alastor had finally stepped over close enough to see Husk and upon locking his eyes on him, did the strangest thing. He froze, straightened his neck, and stared at the other man unmovingly. The motion was a little like a deer in the woods at the snap of a twig. It wasn't a motion she hadn't seen before, but it had been some time. His expression was unreadable and Husk looked at him slowly.

Niffty suppressed a gulp. She trusted Alastor to not be too temperamental with his own contracted demons but Husk was in no place mentally right now to sensor his opinion of his boss and it still _was_ possible to cause irreparable offence if he really wasn't careful.

Instead of showing any distaste for the Radio Demon, Husk merely ‘mrrphed’ and him in friendly acknowledgment and she sighed in relief. So he definitely didn’t hate him. That would make this situation a little less dangerous.

Alastor still didn’t move an inch, but his grin widened.

“He’s a little blitzed right now,” Niffty admitted.

“Yes, I can see that,” Alastor said, finally snapping out of his sedimentary stance. “I must admit, my eyesight isn’t that bad. This monocle is more of a choice of aesthetics than complete necessity, dear.”

He stepped over tentatively and scratched Husk behind the ear as if he were any common cat.

Come to think of it, Alastor liked cats didn’t he? She would know, she’d never forget that one hellcat he had in the sixties. It was an absolute nightmare! It would scratch up all the furniture with its eight-inch claws and vomit up demon parts everywhere. Then there was the yearly shedding of its poison spines which would cover the house and they’d corrode the hardwood if Niffty didn’t clean them up fast enough. Not to mention it was many times her size and loved to chase her around like in a Sylvester and Tweety cartoon. When it finally passed of ripe old age, she shed no tears.

Husk pressed his neck into Alastor’s claws and began to purr. Well that was interesting. It was innocent enough when looking at it as a man and a cat, but with a man and a man? Oooo it was almost sinful! She'll admit she wouldn't have thought anything of it in the distant past but that day they sieged the porn studio... she had seen some things that had opened a few doors of fantasy for her. A man and a man? Who would have thought it was even logistically possible? First of all, a guy didn't even have a ***** for the other to ****************** but it turns out one could **********************************************************! Yes her fanfiction had gotten a lot more colourful since then.

It had been a while since she’d seen Alastor this delighted. He immediately materialized on the other side of the couch and crouched down to continue petting.

She had a feeling Husk wouldn’t appreciate this if he was in the right state of mind. It was a good thing now that he’d never remember this.

Alastor’s hand drifted down to rubbing Husk’s white stomach fur and things immediately shifted as Husk gasped and grabbed at the radio’s demon’s offending arm aggressively.

If there was anything anyone knew, it was that as much as their superior liked to touch people, he hated being touched. Not even Niffty would ever dare.

Static filled the air and Alastor stared dangerously at Husk’s claws, currently latched into his sleeve.

“Oh wait!” Niffty said desperately. “He’s just hurt there that’s all!”

Alastor tore his hand away and glanced at Niffty. “Hurt?”

“Yes, from the last job, he got real beat up! They punched him a lot in the stomach!” She explained.

Alastor stood. “Well, that fur sure does disguise his injuries, I had noticed he never seemed to get scuffed on jobs. I always figured it was because he would immediately wander and slack off somewhere until everything was done. It’s nice to hear he actually did his part and distracted the buffons this time around.”

“That’s not true at all!” Niffty quickly said in surprise. “Husk is always looking out for me and he always works…” hard wouldn’t exactly be the right term for the way he leisurely ran about his tasks, “…smart,” she said. Then she huffed. “I assumed he was your right-hand man or something given how much you always tell him about your plans!”

“Tell him?” Alastor asked, now sounding a little baffled.

“Yeah, like how he knew to get you that book the other day… you hadn’t told me what we were doing, I thought you must really trust him.”

Alastor looked towards the injured and inebriated Husk now with an expression that almost looked thoughtful. His ear twitched. “Well Husker, you card,” she heard him say quietly.

Husk looked at him with round clueless eyes, nearly blacked out with his dilated pupils. “Who knew I had someone so entertaining under my nose for all of these years,” Alastor hummed and resumed to petting only his head, taking note of his injured spots.

Niffy nodded her head righteously. It was about time Husk got the attention he deserved.

She had given in to cleaning the whole apartment. When she returned from Husk’s bedroom she was surprised to see Alastor now on the couch, Husk curled up with as much as his upper body as possible on his thin lap. Somehow he’d even managed to pry that beer bottle from his claws.

Yes,

It was a very good thing Husk wouldn’t remember this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I heard Viv was toying with making Niffty part Japanese. Even though it's not canon yet I rolled with it because I am a weeb at heart who will never not include Japanese elements if I can, but poor baby, I can't even imagine what it would be like growing up Japanese-American during the events of Pearl Harbour. Oh no :( I shouldn't have just googled it at that thought... 
> 
> I should also add that I kind of try to give characters opinions that are still a little stuck in their own timeframes that aren't my own XD I am a supporter, I don't think LGBT is 'sinful'. I definitely don't fetishize it either, let me now if it ever comes off that way and I'll fix it


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t fair how long it took him to heal from things.

Sure this was hell and regeneration was supposed to be a long and excruciating event but it seemed somehow longer for him than for anyone else. Maybe it was his age, maybe the alcohol didn’t help, it was really impossible to say but there wasn’t any way he’d ever experiment and try to go through the process sober to find out.

Healing HURT. In many ways that natural recovery didn’t. He had probably broken a few ribs on that last job and the sensation of them slowly being pushed back together shard by shard at a snail’s pace was almost unbearable. Every inhale of breath was like needles to the lungs.

Yes, the only way he survived it was by blacking out for the week. When he eventually got onto the other end of that bender, his body was good as new but… something else had changed.

Something unsettling was going on with Alastor. Or more specifically, there was a sudden change in his relationship with the boss and he had no idea what brought it on.

It had only been moments of the first day out of his drunken coma when this development came to light. He had emerged from his room with the same sort of world-weary expression as a bear emerging from its den after a long hibernation.

Not that much time had elapsed of course. Whatever changed in the air he was expecting to detect as he raised his snout- there wasn’t any. His house was clean now- probably Niffty’s work. His fridge was empty…. The sky was darkening… so he supposed it was night. He had no idea what day it was anymore though.

Lucidity was a strange thing to get a grasp back onto once you’ve given it up for any amount of time.

A shadow moved from the corner of his peripheral vision.

In the living world, this was something you learn to brush off as a trick of the eye, but in hell, where your boss has a literal army of shadows, this was something to make note of.

Alastor was watching him? Why?

The shadow was gone now, either hiding or reporting back to its master, it was impossible to say.

He didn’t like this. This hadn’t happened before.

Suddenly he felt a terrifying sensation of the entire world glitching and he dropped down on all fours in horror.

When the pixels of reality all sorted back into place, he found himself at a high-class restaurant on a rooftop patio. Damnit. He could never get used to being teleported by the Radio Demon because every time was a different kind of production. Sometimes shadows would leap up and engulf him, sometimes he’d just blink and be somewhere else. Once he recalled just suddenly dropping into his shadow in a free-fall. That was his least favourite time as it had him screaming and flailing on his back like a turtle as he had appeared at Alastor’s feet.

It seemed to be the boss’ side-hobby to always catch him off-guard.

This time he was able to train his features back into a look of apathy and collect himself rather fast. Once he had calmed, it wasn’t hard to guess what was going on. He was the unlucky bloke selected from a hat to pay for Alastor’s meal again. Standard procedure, but still annoying as hell.

Good GOD was that the river? They were on the opposite end of town from his place! How the fuck was he going to make it back home after? It would be about two hours of walking at least!

He turned around and sure enough, Alastor sat at a small table right at the patio’s edge. One long leg crossed over the other and looking like the billboard image of leisurely sophistication.

“Ah Husker, good of you to join me!” He said as if he had come of his own volition.

Husk eyed the table in confusion. There were two menus still sitting on the table’s surface. Had he not eaten yet?

“I was broadcasting a block over and happened upon this new eatery on the way home! Such a lovely view of the water! I thought to myself the only way it could be better was with some good company!” The radio demon nattered on, completely ignoring the confused look on the cat demon’s face.

Husk glanced behind him as if this ‘good company’ was suddenly going to materialize elsewhere.

There was nobody else. He pointed to himself dumbly.

Alastor laughed. “Yes of course I meant you old friend! I hope you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Uh,” Husk said. “I haven’t.”

The chair in front of Alastor was either pushed out by his foot or magic (Husk was betting the latter just because Alastor was a show-off like that) and Husk eyed it with suspicion before finally taking the seat and staring at his ‘dinner date’ wearily.

“Any special occasion?” Husk finally asked.

“Well I was looking over our contract the other day and I realized today is your 21st anniversary as a demon! I believe that was a significant birthday back in Nevada yes?”

Husk actually snorted. “Well fuck me, I can finally drink!”

Alastor shook his head. “Always so crude, supposedly part of your charm I hear…”

“Do you do this for all of your contract demons or am I just special?” Husk asked, hoping his apathetic tone hid the amount of deliberation in his question. He was still, after all, trying to fully sus out the situation.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” Alastor said. “But most demons don’t make it to twenty-one.”

He had. Of all of the contract demons Alastor had when Husk first ‘joined the team’, Niffty was the only one remaining that was the same.

When people stop ageing, they mistake their immortality for invincibility. A fatal error in a place where you have a hundred enemies to every one friend.

Sure an angel’s weapon was the only thing that could actually kill you, but if someone wanted you gone, there were arrangements that could put you in the wrong place at the wrong time quite easily.

“it’s an interesting thought though…” Alastor said slyly. “Of all of the many demons I’ve had under my thrall, I wouldn’t say you were one who I believed would stick around so long. Surely I thought some casino would have had you strapped to a streetlight for yearly extermination by now.”

Angels were the one thing an overlord was not obligated to protect you from in most contracts. Husk and Alastor’s agreement hadn’t been anything special enough for those extra benefits.

Husk didn’t glance away from the Radio Demon’s probing eyes, as much as he wanted to. “What can I say, I’m a stubborn bastard.”

Alastor’s grin sharpened in scrutiny. “Yes… I suppose so.” He glanced around and the radio tint to his voice softened. “Oh it is quite ironic that we discuss hell as eternal yet for most demons, it’s such a temporary state of existence before their next great beyond.”

The beady-eyed vulture demon that was their waiter interrupted that thought and Alastor eagerly ordered for the both of them before waving the man off and snapping his attention back to Husk, gaze sliding down for a fraction of a second to his… chest fur? Why?

It was only a flash of a moment but Husk had trained himself to observe these little micro-expressions.

He would have thought the look lascivious if he hadn’t already known Alastor to have virtually no sex drive to speak of. Odd for such a ‘young’ man if he really thought about it. Well, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Thank Lucifer it was Alastor who found him before any of the other shit-lords.

He decided to write the look off as innocent. It was fucking weird in the first place how everyone was out there fetishizing fur tuffs. _Only in hell._ Also, only in hell would he himself _HAVE_ said highly desired fur tuff.

He let the demon chat on about random thoughts until the wine arrived and Husk tried not to gawk. He was a regular consumer of the cheapest booze he could get his paws on but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize an expensive brand when he saw it. His wallet was going to go completely dry by the end of this.

Well, he might as well get his money’s worth. Resigning himself to at least a month of college-style eating, he downed his first glass as soon as the waiter had poured.

In his distraction, he didn’t notice Alastor’s smile widen in a very calculated victory.

The waiter looked horrified but swallowed his comment as he re-poured, eyeing Husk as if he had just made another lifetime enemy. “I would recommend, if I might be so bold, taking the time to savour the taste a little more.”

Husk winked at him, “Noted. Feel free to just leave the bottle here, bub.”

It had been a while since he’d seen such a strong look of disgust.

The waiter turned to Alastor, poured his glass as well with trained grace and left the bottle on the radio demon’s side of the table with a spiteful side-glance at the cat before storming off muttering that they shouldn’t have to advertise a ‘no shoes, no shirt, no service’ policy like some common beach shack.

“Huh,” Husk said, adjusting his bowtie in indignation. “And here I thought I was in my best tux.”

A laugh track emitted from the radio demon’s mic and Husk felt adequately tickled by the reception. Of course, Alastor’s amusement wasn’t that surprising. If there was one person who could appreciate the deliberate taunting of another, especially an uppity snob like that, it was him.

Yes. Alastor’s greatest joy was messing with people… was that somehow why he was here? The Radio Demon was going through a lot of motions to get Husk off of his guard. For what?

Alastor leaned forward on to one elbow and smirked coyly. “I really am quite flattered that twenty years into this relationship, I’ve still managed to have kept you so on edge with fearful suspicion. It sure lets a man know he’s still got it. Why,” he leaned back into his chair at this notion and placed a hand to his chest, “you seem to be glaring a hole straight through me!”

Husk glanced away… and to the bottle at Al’s side. The radio demon, ever the gracious host, slid it over with the push of a single finger.

“You might as well tell me what’s on your mind. It wouldn’t do to have such a lovely dinner spoiled with stilted talk,” Alastor said. 

“Listen…” Husk finally sighed. “You gonna tell me why a shadow was spying on me in my own apartment?” He asked, done with hoping the other man would offer up such information of his own volition.

He actually managed to elicit a look of surprise from the Radio Demon. Not something many people could boast. “Perhaps you are sharper than you look, old chum.”

“Hardly,” Husk shrugged. “They’re just an extension of you and there’s _nothing_ subtle in _anything_ you do. I’d have to be blind to not see them dancing about like they’re in some eff-d up musical number. I wasn’t even under the impression you were going for stealth,” he lied, then poured more wine into his glass with none of the previous elegance and began to drink again. It was starting to hit him rather nicely.

“Well, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t check up on you while you were hurt?” Alastor asked.

Husk froze in place, wine accidentally dripping down his chin as he spluttered. He quickly wiped at his face and stared. A million thoughts ran through his head at once. He parsed through them as best as he could and muddled out the most pressing one. “How did you know about that?”

Alastor shrugged. “You believe I don’t keep tabs on my employees? You seemed to be in quite a lot of pain the other week.”

Was that what this all was? He had called on Husk last week and found him too drunk and unresponsive to be of use? What was his angle here? Was this going to somehow switch into some retribution plot? A scathing performance review?

“Husker, I see a million questions burning in your eyes and I beg you to be candid- you’ve never held your words back with me before so there’s no reason to start now. It was the one, and I do mean the one, refreshing thing about you.”

“I’m all healed up now,” Husk admitted, hoping saying that in itself wasn’t a trap. “I’d say sorry if you called me last week except I would be lying.”

Alastor laughed. “There’s the grumpy old drunk I know! Worry not, I did not need any assistance last week so soon after your last call! I’m not inhuman! Oh wait! I am!” A laugh track played along again as Alastor laughed heartily at his own joke and Husk honestly felt exhausted.

This man rivalled Niffty in energy.

“You made for _quite_ interesting and unexpected company last week though~ Perhaps I understand a little of why my housekeeper is so fond of you.”

A dreadful lump formed in the pits of Husk’s stomach at this information just as dinner arrived.

The waiter put down Alastor’s place setting and glanced towards Husk. “I don’t suppose your _pet_ will be needing flatware this evening?” He asked dryly. Well people don’t go to hell for _good_ attitudes. 

The look Alastor gave him was dangerous. “Have we met?”

The other man looked surprised. “Erm, no sir, I do not believe so.”

“You are joking with me as if we were acquainted and are making disparaging remarks of my choice of company no less. You can understand my confusion.”

Perhaps it was the shrill radio static that finally clued the poor man in on exactly who his customer was. Alastor stood menacingly, eyes turning to radio dials as he looked down at the quivering vulture demon now clutching his tray to his chest. “If I wanted your company and so-called wit, it would be you sitting across from me right now.”

It was a bit surprising to be honest.

Alastor seemed like someone with an unpredictable temper at first glance but he wasn’t. Ordinarily, he quite liked when people felt comfortable enough to joke around with him as long as it wasn’t at his own expense.

He eventually let up and allowed the waiter to scurry off but things hadn’t been looking too good for the bird demon up until that point and Husk had no idea how things were going to shake out.

“Well,” Alastor said, sitting down and glancing at their meal. “This smoked salmon does look appetizing,” he let his eyes slowly slip towards where the waiter escaped. “Although for a moment, poultry did sound appealing as well.” 

“Now I’m not _endorsing_ your fucked-up cannibalism,” Husk said playing with the label of the wine bottle with his long claws. “But he still would have paired nicely with a Pino Gringo like this.”

Alastor looked at him in delight. “You know wine.”

“I’m a literal God-damned alcoholic, you think I wouldn’t know wine?” Husk asked. It had definitely helped of course, that his first-ever lover as a young man had been a much older vineyard owner in Italy. He had learned a lot there. Wines, Italian… other things. Maybe that’s why he knew how to handle a man from the 20s so well.

“Pour me another glass, why don’t you then?” Alastor said, holding his glass out daintily by the stem.

Husk complied.

“I shouldn’t have any more after this,” he said. “The rest is yours.”

Husk rose a long, feathered eyebrow. “You trying to get me drunk?”

Alastor ignored the question in favour of sipping his glass. “This is one type of wine where the price really does make the difference. Cheap bottles don’t achieve the same punch of acidity. Hmm, what else is there…” he murmured swirling the glass as he let the flavours wash over him. “Citrus… apple and…”

“Honeysuckle,” Husk finished.

The approving look Alastor sent him still somehow managed to send a gleeful shiver up his spine and Husk blamed the third of the bottle he had already consumed for that.

He hadn’t understood at first how the guy could be such a prolific public personality in life with his blatant narcissism (and strong serial-killer vibes), but maybe he was starting to see some of the charm that hid his more dangerous edges rather neatly. 

They ate.

Husk drank.

At the end of the meal, to his shock, Alastor paid.

A relieving outcome as the bill had been STEEP.

He wobbled as he stood and quickly found Alastor offering an elbow.

“I ain’t no dame,” Husk growled suspiciously.

“Of course you’re not my good fellow, I just noticed you are looking rather zozzled and might need an arm of support.” The way Alastor was looking at him didn’t even have a hint of being discreet anymore. Whatever he had been scheming, he looked as if he had already won.

“Well I better get home,” Husk said briskly. “Thanks for… dinner.” He then attempted to walk away as fast as he could but Alastor had been correct, he was rather ‘zozzled’. Walking in a straight line was harder than expected.

Two hands quickly steadied him. “Why Husker!” He said in false dismay, his voice the sort of static-y it got when he was making the effort to put on a full performance… or tell a sinfully sweet lie. “You can hardly put one foot in front of the other, I should have realized how much alcohol was in that bottle! Forgive me, I am not that frequent of a drinker being from the prohibition era myself~”

“Yer fulla shit,” Husk slurred.

Alastor only chuckled in agreeance.

“Well I got you like this and now there’s no earthly way you’ll be able get home by yourself… perhaps I shall escort you?” He whispered this last part in Husk’s ear and finally, the proper alarm bells were going off.

He had _wanted_ to get him drunk. He had _wanted_ to get into this position of returning home with him.

He hadn’t thought it possible but there was very little left to interpret at the way the radio demon’s hand slide sensually down the length of his shoulders, or the way the chest of his tightly-fitted coat pressed firmly between the areas where his wings merged with his shoulder blades.

One hand moved to the small of his back and the other left him to casually snap the pair into Husk’s apartment.

A blazing heat that toed the line between fear and excitement ripped through the shorter demon. Was this really happening right now? Why wasn’t he as repulsed as he should be?

“You,” Husk said with a shaking voice, unable to turn to face his _date_. A gloved hand rose up the length of his stomach against the natural set of his fur and settled on the dreaded chest poof and there were finally no questions left. “You really were liquoring me up to get to my body.”

Warm wine-coloured breath laughed melodically in his ear. “ _Yes_.”

Husk shuddered.

Maybe… maybe going through with this wouldn’t be too bad. Alastor wasn’t _bad_ looking. His face might even have been his type under than manic grin perhaps?

Their _real_ ages felt more present than ever. It had been long time since Husk felt so young and naïve to have gotten himself into this situation. Alastor who had always appeared as youthful as the day he died suddenly seemed so much older… and certain… _and experienced_.

Yes… maybe even he in the heat of the moment could admit he wanted this just a little bit. His normal response that he was too old to ever wish to be held closely by another again like he was now was really nothing but a fabricated lie in the end.

Then they were on the couch.

Then Alastor was…. Petting him?

What?

“My lovely Husk, you do have such pleasant fur. It would be so much softer if you took proper care of yourself. My darling Dottie was a stray at first too with the most scratchy feeling pelt- with the proper love and care she became quite silky~ I’m sure we could get you there too.” Alastor promised cheerfully.

What the actual hell?

Any hint of clearly mistaken sexual tension was tossed out the window and Husk found himself sprawled awkwardly over his boss’ lap and being scratched behind the ear.

He HATED how good that felt, and how… familiar it was?

“This isn’t the first time we’ve done this is it?” Husk said in realization, finally connecting the dots of what exactly had happened the other week.

Alastor laughed in a way that confirmed everything.

“Shit.”

Well. Whatever.

His last vestiges of humanly pride abandoned him in that moment. He flipped onto his back to expose his softer stomach and let the radio demon just have his way with him… Only in a less fun way than he had originally thought. (but maybe he was a little relieved after all)

He was good and drunk and this wasn’t a necessarily _bad time_ for either of them. If Al played his cards right, he _might_ even let him rub the belly again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got surprisingly saucy.
> 
> Yeah it's been a while... had some writers block. (Was feeling a little frustrated that by chapter five Husk and Al still had NO CHEMISTRY and I wasn't really sure how to get past that) Tonight I finally just set a series of 20 min timers to force my way through and told myself I wasn't sleeping until I had a chapter.
> 
> .... darn as I wrote the word 'chemistry' I just realized I have some actual chemistry work I was supposed to prep.


	7. Chapter 7

At first, during the ‘petting’, he had done his very best to lay back, close his eyes, _dissociate_ and wait patiently for the nonsense to be over.

He had figured it would be harmless enough. Weird? Sure. Stupid? Definitely. Dehumanizing? Absolutely, but certainly it was innocuous in the end, right? No.

It was… surprisingly nice in the moment. Maybe even _very nice_ \- and that’s the highest praise Husk was willing to give anything. It was a little like a full-body scalp massage and it suddenly wasn’t hard to understand anymore why cats liked this so much. He could hear himself start to purr and he didn’t even care.

Partway through, he had decided that neck scratches were his favourite thus far of all the pats- 10/10 would let Alastor do that all night if he wanted. His body involuntarily leaned in whenever his claws grazed his neck, encouraging (if not _begging_ ) them to dig deeper, and Alastor, someone who was clearly well-versed in cat language, complied almost absentmindedly.

Then he slid his gloved hand up, tracing a curve behind the base of his ear until he was lightly petting the top of his head.

Suddenly, Husk wasn’t in hell anymore.

Something about the touch was throwing him into a memory and he could almost recall what it was like to have sun beating on his face and the smell of his mother’s perfume. Was that how long ago the last time someone pet his head was?

He was in a blissful daze and could vaguely hear the purring intensify. He didn’t even register himself lifting up his arms to expose the rest of his surfaces for Alastor to freely explore with implied permission.

There was no hesitation from the other party who immediately let his hand almost sensually slid down his chest’s long white stripe, veering off half way down his torso to graze along his left side until it reached his hip bone and- now Husk was reminded of something else and the purring stopped abruptly as his heart twisted.

He once again found himself thinking about Alonzo and those exciting days and nights where he, a late-bloomer, had finally found the space to explore himself as a sexual being. He remembered those luxurious hours that were passed by sharing loving and passionate caresses under that shaded and private veranda overlooking the rows of grape bushes. 

_Alonzo…_

The winery heir told him something once. He couldn’t remember the exact wording anymore, which was a shame because the man had a such a way of crafting regular words into heart-clentching poetry, but he had told Husk that the hardest thing about being alone as you get older are the days you realize you can’t remember the last time you were held- and the crippling loneliness that causes. He had called it a ‘hunger of the flesh’. It was ironic in some sadly laughable way that a cannibal of all things had reminded him of this conversation. 

He was frowning now as he looked up at Alastor and the boss took that (tragically) as a signal to stop petting. “Well I take it you’re done now, fair enough Husker. Good on you for being such a great sport.”

Husk didn’t reply and if his head vaguely nudged a bit sideways and tapped Alastor’s jacket with a pathetic amount of need, the radio demon didn’t seem to notice.

After a casual “Well this was swell! See you later!” Alastor was out and the warm lap cradling the cat demon had disappeared in a snap, letting him fall onto the couch cushion in a two-inch drop that was just enough to jerk him back to reality. Now he was alone, left a devastating and cold wreck.

He stumbled to the toilet and vomited before scrunching down on the bathroom floor, cradling himself with his wings.

He felt like some high-class hooker for the radio demon.

It made his drunk-ass want to cry.

He should have seen it coming a mile away.

He wasn’t a cat. He was a man.

A man who hadn’t felt another’s arms in a very, very long time.

Curled on the cold tile. Husk leaned the back of his head on the bathroom door.

He could still feel the radio demon’s touch lingering on him.

It was nice.

It was disgusting.

It was both things at the same time.

He supposed the real problem is that it wasn’t necessarily just a simple case of touch starvation. He missed _connection_. He missed the intimacy of a simple touch from someone who cared about him. Someone who saw him as a person and not just a plaything or therapy animal like Alastor did.

That was why the radio demon’s touch was only a shallow imitation of what he really craved, and it wasn’t enough to patch that little hole in his chest- just enough to poke at it and remind him it was there. 

That was why this could never happen again.

Because Husk was an addict for anything that was bad for him. It was like his body craved everything that could mentally and physically tear him apart. Alcohol, tobacco, gambling- this would be no different if it continued and found its way into his routine. This time, he was going to finally do something good for himself and nip this at the bud.

Or at least that was what he promised himself.

Then a week later, he was summoned once more.

It was going to be a down night for Husk. He had ruined his day’s schedule by sleeping until 5, having been out til dawn the night prior.

Even after he awoke, he sat with a daze in his bed- not exactly certain what there was to get up _for_ and was trying lacklustrely to find some sort of motivation. He hadn’t done well the night before at the casino and had no money left for booze or gambling- what else was left to convince him to put his paws to the hardwood?

His bladder.

Nature’s call forced him out from under his dark nest of blanket to pad over to his washroom blearily.

When he opened the door and walked through however, he had found himself walking through the front doors of a very fancy looking restaurant.

He blinked for a minute, still groggy, and then noticed the radio demon at a table for two in the corner. He waved to Husk enthusiastically.

“No,” Husk said, loudly enough for him to hear. Which of course was also loud enough for the whole restaurant to turn and look at him in alarm. (because no one says no to the radio demon, or frankly even makes eye contact like the way Husk was currently glaring at him from across the room) He ignored the anxious onlookers, choosing instead to flip Alastor off and exit the way he came.

Except there was no escaping the radio demon if the radio demon didn’t let you. Instead of leading back to his apartment or even to the street outside the restaurant, Husk entered back into that little dining room, this time emerging from the kitchen doors, startling a few waiters.

Well.

He slogged over to Alastor in defeat and slammed a paw on the table. “Fine, but you better fucking let me go to the bathroom first unless you want me to piss myself right here.”

Before Alastor could even reply, Husk had stormed off to the washrooms- VERY relieved when he was actually able to enter the men’s room. He was half scared Alastor would take that challenge like the troll he was.

Once business was taken care of, he returned to the Radio Demon’s table.

“Husker! So glad you could find the time to drop in!” Same joke. Still not funny.

At least this time he knew what Alastor was after.

“You’re looking quite dishevelled old pal!” He laughed.

Husk knew. Husk didn’t give a crap. It was the other man’s fault after all that he had no warning to get dressed or groom.

He definitely looked out of place for the restaurant. The other patrons were dressed to the nines but he somehow got the impression no one would complain this time around. This wasn’t some brand new up-and-coming place like last one with recently descended servers. Everyone here clearly knew who the radio demon was and were currently shitting bricks.

Alastor didn’t seem to care that there was a radius of empty tables around them. Or at least he wasn’t outwardly showing that anything was off. To be fair, this was probably the norm for him.

He wondered briefly if the infamy got old. If Alastor ever missed his double life from the surface where he was a beloved public figure at least by day. The guy loved to talk, it was hard to see how he coped with constantly being avoided.

Then Husk realized very quickly he was projecting his own loneliness onto his non-consensual dinner-date and that would _never_ go well.

His favourite drinking buddy in life was a hotshot university professor of psychology who would regularly drive down to Vegas to annihilate the poker scene.

He had always criticized Husk’s choice back then to see the best in people, and it turned out he was right.

Husk was someone who could learn though- especially from the stupid mistakes that kept him up at night and drowning in self-loathing.

And because he had learned. He chose to simply glare at the radio demon and say with complete eloquence and wisdom: “Fuck you.”

Alastor just continued to grin at him in amusement, probably finding his weak venom and deep scowl pathetic. He didn’t care, it at least made him feel better and that’s what mattered. “I don’t know what you think is going to happen tonight, but I’m not your pet!”

Alastor sent him a very smug _‘I beg to differ’_ look before joyously saying, “ _Pet, slave_ ” He mimed weighing the two terms on either hand, “Whatever term you prefer my dear as long as you remember that I do in fact own you.”

Gee.

Well he had him there.

Guess they were done with playing games and pretending Husk had a choice in any of this.

His resolve to fight crumbled and he sighed, supposing that at least he was going to get a good meal out of this… and a drink.

He let Alastor talk through the night, not unlike what he did with Niffty.

He wasn't going to give him anything more than that.

Alastor clearly enjoyed banter and so arguing with him had a tendency to backfire. He wasn’t going to entertain the Radio Demon anymore. One only would do that if they wanted these nights to continue and he sure as shit didn’t.

But Alastor wasn't going to make it easy. He GOADED him both with subtle insults he clearly wanted Husk fight back on and easy statements that could be turned on him with any degree of clever wordplay and it was becoming increasingly painful to not engage. 

Because Husk was a performer.

And admittedly, he got a small thrill out of entertaining. He always had.

So when Alastor finally said mid-monologue. "Have you caught your own tongue my dear cat friend? You've been quiet all evening."

Husk finally uttered out a devastating: "Say one damn thing worth responding to then and maybe I'll pipe up."

While Alastor looked victorious, there was no mistaking the amusement and slightly impressed look in his eye and damn it if that didn’t leave another good feeling in Husk’s stomach.

Listen.

If he was capable of self-validation, he wouldn’t have become a bloody magician.

No. He needed others' endorsement to survive given his inability to create self-confidence on his own in the bleak nothingscape of his heart and, while Alastor was one to freely give off fake compliments and pretty words, there was nothing harder earned than the radio demon’s actual approval.

His self-esteem would probably be feeding off that sparkle in Alastor's eye for a week- as pathetic as that was to say.

Now that he had finally given in to making conversation, he freely spoke his mind for the rest of the night- dazzling the man across from him with surprisingly witty comments and appropriately-timed (pre-1930s) cultural references. 

A man who loved to be entertained and a man who secretly lived to entertain: they were truly a match made in hell.

Alastor paid for the meal again and sure enough, they both returned to his apartment for another night of the most wholesome debauchery the underworld had ever seen.

And despite his best intentions, these nights continued on for years.

And just like he suspected, it became yet another terrible vice he could no longer live without.

It felt like his worst and most cringe-worthy dirty secret.

Until it wasn’t.

A secret that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to write fluff a few days ago- it turned into something that sounded more like a toxic relationship. Then the next day I tried again and it only got WORSE. Finally today I think I managed to tone down the angst a bit but boy do these two need some WORK.
> 
> GOD. Why can't you just love each other like I want you to???


	8. Chapter 8

SOMEONE WAS ON HUSK’S SHIT LIST, and let him just say, as grumpy as he seemed, it took a LOT to get your name on there.

Yes. This mysterious person, _whomever they might be_ , somehow and in _someway_ revealed to Alastor the age-long trope of ‘the diabolical mastermind stroking a cat’. 

Obviously, Alastor took to it immediately.

It really was right up his alley in terms of self-image and just so happened to coincide with his two favourite hobbies: being an overly-dramatic and slimy scheming overlord more-satanic-than-thou asshole and petting Husk.

So that was how Husk suddenly found himself more frequently than ever being pulled from the fabric of reality only to end up cross and humiliated, draped uncomfortably over Alastor’s legs as his signature lap cat during his villaining-hours.

And _Satan_ if it wasn’t an effective intimidation tool for whatever Alastor was doing at the moment whether it be interrogations or villainous exposition-rants. While it did look stupid, it crossed that valley of being _so_ stupid it made Alastor look slightly unhinged which gave the exact effect of throwing people into an immediate cold-sweat that he had wanted.

The blatant disregard for Husk as a person in these moments was not lost on most nervous onlookers. It definitely demonstrated clearly the deranged sadism of the radio demon even before he eventually allowed bits of his more demonic form to seep through the cracks of his normal jolly and dapper facade.

It fuckin’ sucked.

This was why he had tried to stay off Alastor’s radar for so long. He was clearly now working longer hours than any of Alastor’s other contract demons but for no extra benefit.

… other than the pats. He still had to admit those felt pretty good.

Damn him for that.

Another downside of it all of course was he was quickly becoming the 'face' of Alastor's army given how often he was at his side. He was depressed and down on himself most of the time as it is. When the imaginary stares of strangers on the street turned into real ones, it did cause some mental damage.

The worst part of course though was the carnage he had to witness when Alastor didn’t get his way. He didn’t exactly have a weak stomach but watching him go full nightmare demon and rip people in half was NOT enjoyable. _Being in the splash zone wasn’t exactly pleasant either._

Eventually, after an especially horrific scene he had turned on Alastor and told him that if he was going turn every pathetic interrogation session into a massacre, he’d rather he just leave him out of it.

Surprisingly Alastor listened.

Unfortunately, the most favourable outcome was not achieved.

In the most unexpected decision ever, Alastor chose to reign in the carnage a little rather than tone back the petting. This pissed Husk off for an entirely different reason.

Alastor was a SHITTY interrogator. The man could _talk_ sure, but he could also talk and talk and talk and talk. He was not, as a matter of fact, the best listener.

So to try and extract information from someone without immediately resorting to tearing their limbs off, he struggled a bit.

Husk mostly resigned himself to the long sessions that went nowhere fast, sometimes lasting entire afternoons. As long as Alastor spared him some booze, it wasn't really all that different than him just sitting in his apartment anyway. Then something happened in Husk’s life that made him have to take action.

Finally. _Finally_ , he got into the Friday night poker game that took place in the backroom of his favourite bar (conveniently located down the street from his house). They hadn’t had a chair open for decades and Husk had been vying for a coveted spot at the table for years.

So when he got summoned less than two hours before game night- he released a rapid hiss of insults, fur spiking angrily as Alastor roughly held him down and 'soothed him' with firm pets. 

Husk was _seething_.

They were in Alastor’s office. Feet away, a succubus was tied up to a chair, seeming to have given up in her feeble attempt to struggle at her restraints in favour of taking the moment to just stare at Husk dumbly- a reaction he was very used to by now.

She was wearing some old time-y 1920’s hyper-conservative dress that suggested she had originally been wearing much less and Alastor had sought to fix that before he had to look at her for too long.

He was really the weirdest fuckin’ guy.

“The fuck kind of fetish play is this?” She finally said in annoyance. Her wrists were bound but she still managed to vaugley gesture towards the two men. “Val was right, you _are_ secretly some kinky-ass bastard.”

Alastor’s claws in Husk’s fur as he restrained himself from ripping her to shreds HURT.

From being the radio demon’s personal stress ball, he was starting to learn that Alastor sure had a LOT of suppressed rage.

This whole ‘Don’t tear people apart’ thing was really backfiring on him in the most spectacular way. He often went home with long bloody scratches down his back- never deep, and he doubted Alastor even knew he was doing it, _but still_.

“You his little sex slave?” She asked, now looking directly at Husk.

“Nah, he really thinks I’m just a cat,” He responded in the world’s most defeated tone.

Alastor’s grip tightened on his scruff. “Husker dear, what did I tell you about talking?”

“Well you know what it takes to shut me up,” Husk said, holding out a paw in a ‘gimme’ motion.

“So this isn’t some kind of degradation play you two’ve got going on?” She elaborated.

“I mean,” Husk said thoughtfully. “No but it’s also not, _not_ that. It’s fucked up but a _different kind of_ fucked up than you’re thinking.”

Alastor _definitely_ got off on how much Husk hated this, he was certain.

Alastor waved his hand in annoyance and Husk’s mouth was plugged with a bottle of cheap booze. _There we go_ , that wasn’t too hard now was it? He sipped at it, appeased- for a few minutes anyway, but then worry about getting to his game on time resurfaced.

He got an idea of the situation over time, This broad was sent by Val to seduce Alastor (laughable), failed (obviously), and now Alastor was taking advantage of the situation to get some dirt on her boss.

However, he wasn’t getting anything with the way he treated every conversation as a radio show starring him and him only. An hour in, Husk was reeling.

Alastor was mid-monologue, scorning Val and his industry when Husk pulled out his flip phone and texted Niffty. He just hoped she hadn’t left her phone behind again in her cleaning frenzy.

Luckily, she must have gotten the message as she appeared at the door in a matter of minutes.

“Alastor sir,” she curtsied, “there is an urgent matter that needs to be tended to immediately.”

None of that was how Niffty talked or acted so Alastor was immediately alert.

“Yes of course Niffty doll,” he said carefully. “If you’d just excuse me a moment,” he said to the succubus.

Husk followed him out and as soon as the oak double doors were closed he rounded on him.

“Okay,” he jammed a long claw at Alastor’s chest stopping only millimetres from touching (because yeah, all these years and he still wasn’t permitted to even accidentally touch Alastor back). “I don’t want be here all night so shut the fuck up for once in your damned life and listen to me.”

Alastor’s grin was ever-present but his eyes narrowed.

“This is an _interrogation_ , you need to let go of the spotlight- if you’re even capable of that- and shine it right in that lady’s face.”

“Husker my fellow, I was a radio host for many years I assure you I know how to conduct an interview,” Alastor said dryly.

Husk slapped a palm to his face and dragged it down in exasperation. “Didn’t seem like it to me. I’m offering you help for once so you better take it. This is what’s going to happen when you go back in: You are going to be mostly silent and force her to talk. When she lies, I’m going to tap you on the ankle with my tail and you are going to repeat what she said to you back to her and force her to give more details. Eventually, she will slip up and we can move from there.”

“An interesting method- It’s rare to see you show such initiative so I’m willing to give it a chance,” Alastor said.

Husk let go of a breath he was holding. The hardest part he had calculated was getting the guy to sign off to his ideas. Bonafede narcissists don’t usually take criticism and correction well. It was possible he was just doing this because either it would work or blow up in Husk’s face but either way he’d be entertained.

With Husk’s assist however, it only took thirty minutes to have the girl nervously singing like a canary.

Alastor looked happier than ever. Once they were alone, he slapped Husk on the back good-naturedly. “Why, that worked shockingly well old chum! I must say I am quite surprised by the effectiveness of your methods!”

Husk continued to check his phone nervously as the time to his appointment drew close. If he didn’t show up to this first game there’s no way he’d have the seat next week.

Alastor paused in thought and his grin widened. “I just realized! I happen to have two sorry sods in the basement rotting away that I do believe you might be able to help me with!”

Pure horror and disbelief caused Husk to snap. He grabbed Alastor by his shirt and slammed their foreheads together. "Oh no you don't asshole! You already work me more than anyone else! I just did you a big favour don't get fucking ahead of yourself-"

He paused in horror as he caught himself and quickly jumped back while staring at his arm, trying to comprehend how he still had it.

He felt a cold shiver down his spine. People don't _touch_ Alastor. He had only seen it tried a few times and the result was always horrifying.

However... he didn't hear the usual radio static that accompanied such an action.

He looked up expecting radio-dial eyes but only saw a shockingly neutral Alastor looking down at his messed shirt rather lost in thought.

"Uh. Listen. I didn't- I won't..." Husk was at a loss for words. "Are you mad?"

Alastor straigtened his clothes before brushing off some imaginary dust. "No..." He said. "That was a little... less disgusting than usual somehow. Count yourself lucky and don't take this as a free pass to do it again."

"Uh yeah..." Well now he really didn't feel like he was in a position to ask for favours but this was the first important thing he had down here in hell so he knew he had to try. "Listen Al," He wasn't sure where that nickname came from but whatever. "I've got somewhere I need to be in twenty minutes just.... let me go?"

Alastor eyed him apathetically. 

Finally, after what was agonizingly too long Alastor shrugged. “Okay, fair enough.”

He warped Husk back to his apartment and he pumped a fist in victory. Some wars ARE worth it after all. Turns out the Radio Demon was a lot more reasonable than he ever gave him credit for.

…is what he thought until he got summoned back the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to let yourself write a short one.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days in a row. This sucked, and worse, it was entirely his own fault. He might have been a little too eager to help out the Radio Demon the other day and now look at where it got him: Once again uncomfortably draped in the most awkward position ever; half on Alastor’s lap, half spilling over the right arm of his oak office throne, paws dangling an inch above the floor.

Yes throne- that was heard correctly. The prick conducted his interrogations from a throne. One that didn’t fit two people in the slightest.

The arms were meticulously and elaborately carved and the many ridges dug into Husk’s stomach painfully. His back was bent over horribly as well. He was still in a lot of pain from this same position the day before and was starting off this day incredibly sore. When was this gag going to run stale already?

“Goddamnit Al! I was sleeping!” He protested loudly not even moderately soothed by the rough one-directional strokes that tugged first at the loose skin of his face and then his scruff.

“Good day to you Husker! I hope your evening was swell!”

Ohhhh there the hangover was. Not as bad as usual, he had wanted to keep his wits with the boys and so had gone a little lighter on the drinks (When he went full blackout, it wasn't for pleasure) Still, why was Alastor's voice always so friggin’ loud?

“It is way too early in the morning for this,” Husk grumbled. “Alastor, it’s only…” He checked the antique clock across the room. “… one thirty in the afternoon.”

The laugh track was back and it was far too many voices ringing in his head. Alastor’s mic was perched right by his ear. He glared at it accusingly and considered nudging it away but knew if it fell over and broke, his spine would actually be ripped apart instead of just feeling like it was.

“Is this really necessary?” He snapped, pointing vaguely at the chair below him. “My back feels like it’s been twisted into a pretzel.”

Alastor laughed. Damn him. “And here I thought cats could get comfortable anywhere!”

Husk was on the verge of hissing (something he would have been mortified about after the fact) when Alastor snapped his fingers and the throne was replaced with one of those fancy one-armed chaises. Ordinarily, Husk had certain options about chaises, mostly ‘Fuck you, just be normal a couch you try-hard half-functional piece of shit’ but today it was his salvation.

“Better?” Alastor asked. “We need you in prime condition today old boy!”

Husk stretched himself out as far as demonly possible in a languid manner. Yes, this _was_ much better. He readjusted himself a few times, trying to find the ideal position for his poor ceased up muscles.

The seat was firm and his final verdict was directly on his back. He knew he was expected to at least partially be on his boss, it was wasn’t like he was suddenly allowed his dignity or anything like that but using Alastor’s lap as a pillow wasn’t a bad compromise. The boss’ legs were almost as boney as a skeleton but the one benefit to fur was the extra padding to make that bearable.

Hmm.

This really was quite nice.

The only downside was it had him looking right up at that demented smile. He tried closing his eyes but it somehow made it worse. Every person ever’s worst irrational fear is opening their eyes at night and seeing a face like that staring back at them and for Husk, it wasn’t even irrational- he was FULLY aware that those sharp teeth and glowing red eyes were peering down at him.

It was a pity, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep like this. He’d known Alastor for quite sometime but wasn’t quite ready to let his guard down that far. He at least knew he wouldn’t eat him or anything- but he did strike Husk as a prankster.

Alastor’s hand returned to the petting but it was a little more gentle now and attacking all of Husk‘s preferred places that they had discovered over the past few years. He still never got over how bizarre it was that his fingers digging into his neck felt so good. The very idea of a serial killer’s sharpened claws so close to such a vulnerable area should have him in a cold sweat. Well… today Alastor needed him for something. The chair, the scratches, this was all an attempt to butter him up. He didn’t mind taking advantage of it all. Husk tilted his head to quietly demand more.

“Right,” The cat demon finally said, feeling much more agreeable now. “You said there were some blokes you wanted me to check out?”

“Yes, of course! On to business! Surprising diligence from you Husker!” Alastor praised.  
“Surely you remember those Vox boys?”

Husk made a terrible face _. Oh did he ever._

They were the last poor sods that Alastor had shredded to ribbons before Husk finally put his foot down.

It was a MESS and frankly, shocking that the carpet wasn’t as stained as Husk’s mind would permanently be. Niffty was damn good at her job. He wondered if she could bleach his brain of that event too.

Alastor read Husk’s expression quite easily and laughed. “Yes, I’ll admit bumping gums with them last time had turned into quite an event, but I did make you a promise and you’ll find I’m quite an honest man Husker.”

Bullshit.

“We’ll try your methods and if they work, the proceedings of last time shall not repeat,” he promised.

Like Husk said, bullshit. There were too many holes in that promise including Alastor, at any time, being able to decide that _‘things weren’t working’_. He had been shockingly good at not mangling anyone in front of Husk for the last while but they hadn’t been _Vox's_ people.

Alastor was just dramatic and deluded enough to probably consider Vox his arch-nemesis or something stupid like that. He’d talk as if he couldn’t care less but his craving for blood ramped up considerably if Vox was even remotely connected to a situation.

“Are you still sour?” Alastor asked in a saccharine tone. “Admittedly, I might have acted a tad bit rash the other time, but they do say you can’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs!”

“You definitely did that,” Husk agreed dryly.

“Well, second time’s a charm right?” Alastor asked without missing a beat.

“Usually they say it’s the thir-“ Husk’s mouth was promptly covered with a gloved hand. Bastard. He had half a mind to lick it. He’d _hate_ that.

Husk didn't.

He did not feel like finding out what regrowing a tongue felt like. 

Alastor let go after a moment and let his hand stray to scratch that magic spot behind Husk’s ear. Oh Satan yes. It never mattered how irritated Husk had been in the moment before, that spot was like sex, but better. Or at the very least more satisfying than any sexual encounter he had past his forties. (Chronic substance abuse had really put a damper on his performance abilities by then)

His foot thumped instinctively at the sensation every time which always had Alastor endlessly amused.

Maybe someday he could convince Al to do both ears at the same time.

That would be pure euphoria.

An involuntary purr was ripped out of the cat demon as the scratching continued.

“Oh no, that’s enough of that Husker,” Alastor quickly scolded even though Husk was very certain he had known what he was doing. The scratching stopped. “We need to sound professional in the workplace. Can’t have background noise like that during a show!” He booped Husk’s heart-shaped nose in the most annoying and condescending way.

“You’re going to broadcast this?” He asked.

“Oh no of course not! It would make for dreadful air given you won’t be allowing me to tear them open again- but all the world’s a stage and we are but players at every moment, even when nobody else is watching.”

He really wanted to someday figure out what drug Alastor was on. He could use some of that himself.

“Perhaps if you do well today, we can have some ‘job well done’ scratches after,” Alastor promised.

Oh yes, that sounded- no. Wait a fucking second. Pets were ALASTOR’S reward. How dare he try to manipulate him into thinking this was something _he_ wanted. The day these sessions stopped getting passed off as favours to Alastor was the day it stopped counting as proper work.

“Anyway,” the radio demon quickly said before Husk could protest, “They’ve been waiting patiently down in the meat cellar fully awake for a couple of days now- I’d be a rude host to keep them waiting any longer. I’ve had them separated so they must be craving some good company by now.”

Husk doubted they’d ever consider Alastor ‘good company’ but knew this didn’t need to be pointed out.

Alastor waved a hand and the very unfortunate goons were warped into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting this chapter in half, mostly because the next part was going to be long and I promised to update this month... and this month ends in 10 minutes lol.
> 
> I'm going to make another promise to post the next chap next Sunday- that seems to motivate me XD


	10. Chapter 10

Husk had readjusted himself to something slightly more dignified… sort of. Actually, Husk readjusted himself to position that was far _less_ dignified but, at the very least, also less compromising. There was something in the way they were seated before that he could at least admit on the outside, looked oddly intimate. Even if it wasn’t.

He shuffled onto his stomach and separated himself a little from Alastor’s lap by using his arms to pillow his chin. It didn’t feel quite as good on his poor abused back, but it did make him look a little more like a cat and a little less like a person. That was usually the opposite of his objectives, but it would serve him well here. The last thing he needed if these guys ever got out was them telling Vox he was _close_ to Alastor or something stupid like that. He hated how Alastor dehumanized him, but could also appreciate it was one of the few things that inadvertently kept him safe.

The macaque and the porcupine demon were teleported into the room only half a second later and wasted no time frantically exchanging information with each other, regaling the horrors of Alastor’s basement in so much gory detail that a shiver ran down Husk’s spine. He quirked a long feathery eyebrow towards Alastor.

If it was hyperbole, Alastor wasn’t contesting it. Rather, he seemed to be taking their revulsion as a compliment. Still, the asshole wasn’t the kind of guy to be able to stay out of a conversation for long- flattery must have been the only reason he let them go on by themselves as long as they did. In the end though, he was a talker, not a listener.

“Gentlemen,” Alastor finally said, “you are being quite rude ignoring your host.”

They both snapped their mouths shut and stared at him in primal fear.

Alastor must have done quite a number on them, usually those kinds of expressions were reserved for when he started to switch into his demon form. “Have you reconsidered your positions any since our last chat?” The radio demon’s grin was wide and toothy but his eyes narrowed like a predator fixating on a piece of prey. “We had quite the shindig last time you boys were up! Very entertaining! I wouldn’t mind going for a second bout of that myself!”

Husk’s claws were millimetres from squeezing Alastor’s knee threateningly. Of course, he knew he couldn’t get away with tha-

_Or could he?_

Alastor wanted him there to advise but not talk, how else was he supposed to do that? After a moment of careful contemplation Husk decided he was going to milk this opportunity as payback for all the years of Alastor’s extreme bubble-bursting touchiness.

He let his claws sink into Alastor’s thigh an inch or two above the knee cap, lightly enough that it wouldn’t hurt or puncture skin, just make him squirm under the gentle squeeze in a slightly suggestive place.

Alastor’s hands shot off from where he had been stroking Husk immediately and the cat demon wanted to fall over laughing. For once, he was glad to be out of bed, this was amazing. There had also been this ridiculous sound like the crackle down of when you turn off an old radio followed by a whole second of complete silence before some of his usual ambient static returned. He swore every single thing about Alastor was so over the top and sometimes it was downright hilarious. 

“But really,” Alastor quickly said. “It’s up to the two of you fine gents on how this all goes down!”

His amendment was better but not great. Husk just hoped that was an empty threat. He had already stated his terms; Cats don’t like baths, blood baths included. He’d be out the door telling this fucker he was on his own from now on with this shit if it happened again, contract or not.

It was obvious Husk was forgiven for his earlier transgression when Alastor's hands went back to stroking his fur. It left strange bubbles in Husk's chest. Not bubbles he didn't recognize mind you- he wasn't some inexperienced teenager but they seemed misplaced for the situation. He wasn't nearly that hormonal anymore. He supposed that while it was an unspectacular gesture, who it was coming from made all the difference. It was always hard not to be oddly flattered when the radio demon himself made special allowances for you.

Alastor’s voice grew contemplative for a moment “I must say though, I had never had porcupine meat before, interesting palette. I didn’t dislike it at all, in fact-”

 _No. Bubbles gone. Bad. Bad cannibal._ Husk took a natural-looking stretch and let his claw run up the length of Alastor’s shin in punishment (and if it was almost slow and sensual rather than a sharp and abrupt reminder to stay on task, that was Husk's own business, bugger off). He was careful of course, to ensure the other two couldn’t see what he was doing. One of the greatest skills of a stage magician is hiding hand tricks in plain sight, he knew just how to angle his paw to make it look like he didn’t even touch him.

Alastor stopped talking abruptly and a fist clutching at Husk's fur spoke of a silent warning that he happily ignored… for a moment before conceding that maybe he was taking it all a bit too far. He had been having a bit too much fun now seeing what all he could get away with, but, well, unlike Alastor, Husk could actually respect boundaries and so he made the conscious decision to stop. 

It was either Alastor’s expression or the way he trailed off right there as if really thinking about savoury porcupine stew that caused the smaller captive demon to shrink in his seat. Afterall, there was nothing more unsettling than when Alastor went quiet. There was a slight ripping sound of the dining chair’s upholstered back catching on his quills as he sunk. He must have been unconsciously pressing as hard backwards towards the doors as possible. Husk couldn’t really blame him. He’d hate to be on the other side of this.

The macaque seemed to be the stronger of the two, after a moment of terror, his face contorted to something of determination.

“We aren’t telling you shit you obsolete-“

The porcupine whipped his head around to his colleague to intervene before the insult was complete. “WAIT!” He cried.

The macaque looked at him in annoyance.

Hmm it felt like the smart thing to do would be separate them- work on the porcupine guy on his own. Husk began to think about ways to suggest this to Alastor when a new development arose.

 _“Let’s just tell him anything he wants, I can’t live through this nightmare anymore!”_ The porcupine pleaded… in mandarin. Well, that changed some things. There is no one more loose-lipped than people certain their conversation can’t be overheard. Maybe it was better to keep them together a little longer.

He could feel Alastor’s hand tensing in annoyance from where it had been idly scratching between his shoulder blades. He was about to say something, no doubt to bar them from talking in a language he didn’t understand. Since this was actually the best possible development, Husk reacted in an instant and without thinking to stop him. His tail flipped up to brush over Alastor’s lips, the two captives were too preoccupied with each other in the moment to catch the exchange.

Ow! Okay, yes, a bit too far. Claws were dug into his back painfully. That time he hadn’t done it intentionally, but he could understand how Alastor saw it that way. He removed his tail at once and was disappointed to know he probably used up the last of his boss’s patience for good.

He hazarded a glance up.

Complete radio dial eyes pointed right at him and an ominous frequency buzzed in the background so quiet and low only his cat ears right next to him could pick it up. Husk rolled his own eyes at this. _Drama queen._

Well hopefully he’d be forgiven if he learned something useful. The gesture was, at least, not for naught. Alastor seemed to get the message because he didn’t dissuade them from talking amongst each other.

 _“He’s not coming for us! We’ve been here a long time, if Vox were coming, he would have already!”_ The porcupine cried.

The macaque grit his teeth. _“He’s busier than ever this year, you know that! Don’t forget how much work setting up that new warehouse by the hellevator was going to be."_

Oh?

Husk’s tail flicked thoughtfully. There had been rumours Vox was going to begin retailing to other circles. It seemed too ludicrous to be true, no sinner had a hand in any circle but pride, but real estate by the hellevator wasn’t cheap, you’d have to have a really good reason to build something as massive as a warehouse there.

He supposed if anything was going to get its claws wrapped around Hell and change it’s millenia-long dynamic, it was capitalism.

But still… a shiny new warehouse by the hellevator. That was big. That might have been all the information they really needed.

Technically.

It wasn’t really Alastor’s style to fight ‘tactically’. He was from the WWI era where everyone fought like total idiots. He’d no doubt find a warehouse too “boring” to attack. Precision bombing hadn’t been an idea that really took off until after Alastor’s time… and everyone knew exactly how adverse Alastor was to any idea _‘after his time’_. The truth was that targeting an enemies’ assets while minimizing collateral damage was proven to be the most effective method to winning a war, but that simply wasn’t how Alastor rolled.

For him, it was about being flashy and right up in his enemy’s faces. It was all about the showy massacres and senseless damage, like a child throwing a fit. Even if destroying the warehouse would probably financially cripple Vox (the thing Husk assumed would personally hit him where it hurt the most), it wouldn’t have that “personal” touch Alastor loved so much nor any of the showmanship.

Honestly, what was he hoping to get here anyway? The name of Vox’s lover so he could re-enact the clichéd radioshow villain trope and kidnap them? Actually, maybe…He somehow could _absolutely_ see Alastor tying them up to a railroad line or slowly feeding them into a woodchipper at a snail’s pace, all the while cackling maniacally. It was so corny and outdated it suited him perfectly.

Yet they really wouldn’t need these two for that information either. Anyone with two eyes could see Vox had something going on with Valentino… except Alastor. Alastor, while surprisingly brilliant in some matters, was utterly hopeless in picking up any sort of romantic or erotic tension. It was like it all was just completely alien to him. Hell, maybe it was. They spent decades together by this point and Husk had never seen him show an interest in any other demon like that.

He certainly was good looking and charismatic enough to hook just about anyone if he had wanted. Hell, there was an entire _fanclub_ in the cannibal colony who would probably quite literally eat each other in the hopes of being the last broad standing to get a shot with him.

Even HUSK, (God it was painful to admit) might have been fair game if Alastor wasn’t always such an asshole to him. He always did have a weird thing for the dapper and put-together.

He had tuned out the talks for too long with his wandering thoughts and was only brought back upon hearing the macaque utter the worst string of words he possibly could have.

“Fuck you, you sick as fuck, mouthy ass, whore’s son, ass-fucker! Vox is three times the man you are, like I said, we’re not saying shit!”

Well fuck. Husk half admired the guy now, half wanted to sock him in the face. You _don't_ mention Alastor's mother without serious consequences. Things were about to fall far out of Husk's control.

The radio demon stood up with shocking calmness and Husk toppled off of his lap to the floor.

Alastor eyed him for only a fraction of a second before grabbing his microphone, grip tight.

“Well then. I believe you,” his voice was warped and horrifying. “However, I also believe no one is completely without use. If you can’t provide me with what I want, I can at least use you both as a message.”

Oh shit. Oh shitohshitohshit.

A blinking sign on the wall behind the chaise switched to reading “on air.”

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued.... hopefully soon. I think I'm going to stick to semi-frequent updates of short chapters for a while, it seems to work better for me XD


	11. Chapter 11

The broadcast began with one of those _ridiculously_ ostentatious melodies filled with grainy brass instruments like what they used to use in propaganda commercials and radio-dramas back in the old days. Yet there was a twist, something just a little off every couple of notes that somehow transformed the song from something heroic and triumphant to something almost… eery and unsettling.

As it ended, Alastor twirled his mic once and brought it in front of his lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” He announced. “It’s been quite some time since a classic radiodemon broadcast now hasn’t it? But let that cause you to feel blue no longer my dear friends! I’m feeling in a sentimental mood today, so I bring you a special treat in the form of reviving Alastor’s Kitchen Corner!”

Oh fuck no, not that mess.

Husk vividly remembered _‘Alastor’s Kitchen Corner’_.

He had never had an in-studio pass before to this particular program but the thing with Alastor’s ‘shows’ were they were impossible to shut off. He spent many a night in the past with a pillow over his ears listening to tearing viscera and graphic descriptions of cannibalism through the radio in the other room.

“Yes that’s right. I wonder how many of you out there are even old enough to remember this show anymore?” Alastor mussed almost wistfully. “Well, I’m always happy for new listeners, and for you older demon’s out there, welcome back, and, you probably already know the deal- I will tell you today’s recipe and you have a few hours to prepare the ingredients if you wish to follow along!”

He waltzed around the room gleefully.

“And what is today’s recipe you may ask? Well it comes straight from my homeland of New Orlean’s, Sheet Pan Jambalaya! My mother had the perfect recipe- it goes as follows, I hope you have a pen and paper-“

Alastor began to recite a rather long list of ingredients and it almost sounded good. Almost. However, Husk knew exactly where he was going when Alastor mentioned “Sausage” and the radio demon’s pupils contracted to thin predator-like proportions.

“Now of course, the real differentiator here lies in the meat itself.”

Yep.

“I personally like to stuff my own sausages and the beauty of it all is it rarely matters what type of meat you throw in. I personally will be using monkey and porcupine seeing as I have here with me two of fellow overlord Vox’s jobbies who have graciously decided to volunteer themselves! I find the most important factor to meat is its freshness so I am quite thankful for their sacrifice!”

The two demons tied up to the chairs were clearly young enough that they had no idea where Alastor was going with all this until this very second. Poor saps.

Alastor thrusted his microphone at them, “Well, as a special treat boys for you offered services, how would you like to be on air? Anything you’d like to say to our happy listeners?”

The pair began pleading to Vox with all of their might, physically straining their vocal cords.

Alastor retracted the mic. “Aaaand that’s all the time we have for that. Anyway, for those following along, I will need to make preparations. Sausage making will begin in just a short forty minutes! Sheet Pan Jambayla will be on at 5, just in time to prepare an early dinner!”

The sign flicked to ‘off air’ but Alastor didn’t relax, after all, he was always on air, even when he wasn’t.

“I must say, you both are quite admirable, Vox was a lucky man to have had such dedicated followers!”

The macaque spit at the ground, the porcupine was crying.

Husk had never thought about it that way but wow it must have really added to Alastor’s irritation with this all to see just how much Vox’s people loved him. No one likes seeing someone they hate receive so much awe and admiration. Adding insult to the injury, none of his own people would do this for him. Would Husk? It was hard to say. You never really could tell for certain until the moment arises how you would react to such situations. The people who always wax and wane in advance about how they’d lay down their lives for someone else so very rarely actually would.

Alastor stuck around a little longer to taunt them about the events to come and then excused himself, claiming he had to ‘make preparations’.

When he had cleared the room, the macaque turned to Husk and, understatement of the year, said, “Your boss is an asshole.”

Husk just nodded, “yeah, yer telling me.”

“Why did you even form a contract with him?” The porcupine asked between tears.

“Dunno,” Husk admitted, “seemed like a good idea at the time? Better than some options. Wasn’t really keen to become some streetwalker.

It really had been an in-the-moment decision on Husk’s part, not something he spent some great amount of deliberation on, so really, there was no great reason.

“You could… help us out,” the porcupine said with a quivering voice, “I bet if you do, Vox would help free you from your contract! You could come with us!”

It was a lie to get him on their side. That or they were greatly overestimating Vox’s _infinite_ kindness. Vox had no use for an old-timer like him who could barely work a computer. He tended to seek out those with business, technological or industrial sensibilities, not alcoholic magicians.

Either way, Husk was actually quite fine with where he was. What he had with Alastor… it wasn’t so bad.

“No dice,” Husk said. “That would just be exchanging one asshole for another, hate to inform ya, there’s no such thing as a ‘good’ overlord.”

It was the truth, some were just better at hiding their true natures than others. He had no doubt the man behind the screen wasn’t at all how he made himself appear.

Still, these weren’t bad guys sitting across from him. He’d even dare say that they had integrity- something pretty damn rare down in hell. They were also blind-as-ass sheep but that was hardly something to hold against them.

Husk sighed deeply. Now that Alastor had announced the imminent carnage on his broadcast, it was probably too late, but maybe he could still work some magic. “Listen,” he said to them. “Just tell Alastor what he wants to know alright? If you agree I might be able to run down and convince him to end this stupid show here.”

“No,” the macaque said angrily.

“I’m telling you this because you’ve already said plenty,” Husk said. He switched to mandarin and their eyes widened. _“It’s just either you tell him or I do, the only difference will be if you start talking on your own maybe he’ll go light on you.”_

Yeah, he was **not** telling Alastor on his own. He could dig himself out of some of this right-hand-man mess if he appeared completely useless this time around. Having them start blabbing on their own was perfect AND he might come out of this without their blood matting in his fur- a win/win.

The two demons exchanged a look. “FINE,” the macaque conceded through gritted teeth.

“Great,” Husk said, “I’ll go see if I can find him-“

The door exploded and it was NOT Alastor to pour in, but rather, a horde of goons.

They moved immediately to untying the captives.

Oh. Well, Alastor _had_ announced to Vox where he was and who he had in his possession. The tv demon would have looked weak if he hadn’t made any moves. Not to mention it would probably stain his reputation with his following.

To Husk, it spoke volumes though that he only acted once he was called out on air. When he wondered whether or not he would ever willingly endure this amount of prolonged torture for his own boss, he hadn’t considered that Alastor would have never let him go on without rescue for this long in the first place.

Yeah, if he had to have ‘a guy’ to follow, he picked the right one.

The two demons safely escaped with their rescuers, unhindered by Husk because, well, he wasn’t an idiot. He would have been well outnumbered… and he didn’t care to keep them there just to have to watch Alastor eat them. _Again_.

Alastor’s office studio was soundproof but through the now-open door, he could hear one of Alastor’s many, many radios on and Alastor’s voice coming out of it so he sauntered over to listen.

It sounded like a fight.

He looked out of the window for the first time to notice that the radio demon was having a full-out brawl with Vox on his front lawn.

It almost looked stupid.

Don't get him wrong, it was the battle of the ages between two very powerful demons and they were pulling out all of the stops. Eldritch tentacles were streaming out of dimensional holes and electricity had left many burnt patches of grass all over.

But.

This was the suburbs.

It just looked so ridiculously out of place on this friendly, semi-affluent, all-American-resembling street. Then again, Alastor’s four-story radio tower with the massive antenna on top never quite looked right either.

A paperboy imp with headphones on didn’t even seem to notice the life-or-death duel as he tossed a newspaper over the gates and into Alastor’s rose bushes while he passed.

Yeah, this looked stupid, but he watched on nonetheless. In terms of battle, they were… not exactly evenly matched. Somehow Alastor was still unnaturally stronger than any other non-hellborn demon.

However, Vox wasn’t aiming to win the row, he was distracting Alastor while his men were retrieved. The porcupine and macaque were soon standing beside the limo that was waiting on the street along with the rest of Vox’s crew.

When Vox noticed his people all behind him, the captives included, he stopped immediately.

From above, Husk watched Vox send Alastor a pixelated and triumphant grin. His voice was picked up through the radio. “Really I would stay longer and teach you a lesson about messing with _my_ people Alastor, but well, unlike you who has endless time to sit around in your own obsolete tower, I have more important things to do.”

The two rescued demons looked moved by Vox’s speech and for the life of him, Husk couldn’t figure out why. It was never about them. It seemed so glaringly obvious.

Alastor laughed, seemingly uncaring to the final outcome. “Well, to be honest, I’m not one to really enjoy recycling meals. That monkey over there was quite gamy as well, the venison in my freezer will do just as fine. I’ll relinquish them to you in spite of your rather abysmal performance.”

As Vox left, men in tow, Alastor shrugged and spoke into his microphone once again, not even waiting for them to reach the end of the walkway. “Well folks, you heard it here, I’ll be switching to venison. It’s no skin off my nose, I do love the taste of venison, it reminds me of simpler times. Sometimes we all need a break and just to return to simpler times now don’t we? Please enjoy some old-time swing while I prepare the next segment.”

Husk pushed open the window and swooped down as a soft swing came onto the radio.

His wings were always quite silent through the air, especially when he was just gliding so Alastor hadn’t noticed him when he turned back to the retreating crew and ventured towards his front doors with a grin that looked more like a snarl. _“Stupid fucking shithead Vox… Goddamn cultist waste of life…“_ He began to murmur quiet angry insults under his breath and Husk was, honestly, taken aback. This was the first swear he had ever heard from Alastor's lips, let alone a string of curses. Even more unusual, there wasn't a single hint of radio sound effects masking his voice.

It turns out sometimes _'performance Alastor'_ was shut off after all.

Husk made sure to land loudly enough that Alastor heard him and wheeled around, his regular ‘nothing-is-wrong’ grin back on.

“Well Husker, the only one person who found true entertainment out of today I’d say was you. I hope you appreciate I won’t allow such liberties in the future, especially for how poorly you performed. Perhaps I overestimated your abilities after yesterday, as mother always said, a broken clock can still be right twice a day.”

That was exactly what Husk had wanted to hear.

Or at least that was what he had thought.

It was what he was actively aiming for right?

Why did it… hurt… just a little?

Husk’s ears dropped a little as he glanced sideways at the ground and gripped his arm. “Ha, yeah. Never put your hopes on me… that would be stupid.”

He tried to bring his eyes back up to meet Alastor’s but froze as he saw something occurring by the limo.

The porcupine was clutching his own head and having a breakdown. “No NO! I can’t leave it like this! That man! That man needs to pay for what he’s done to us!” He pulled out a gun from the back seat and whipped around to cock it at Alastor.

If Husk had been able in that moment to cast his gaze up to Alastor’s face he would have seen him glancing over his shoulder with a sinister grin at what he viewed as a feeble revenge attempt.

However, Husk didn’t.

He had asked himself earlier if he would ever put himself in the line of fire for Alastor. The answer, it seemed, was yes.

He stepped right in front of the boss at the last second and took the bullet right in the chest. He was down in an instant.


	12. Chapter 12

What came next was not unfamiliar. This wasn’t the first time he had died in hell after all. The best way to describe it was it was like being plunged into deep dark waters, sinking so far that light no longer penetrated, and all hopes up figuring out which way was up was lost. He couldn’t breathe but also didn’t need to. He saw nothing. He smelled nothing.

There was a very warped and muffled, “Husker?”

It was honestly the most surprised he had ever heard Alastor sound. Of course, it could have been a trick brought on by the auditory distortion. Who was to say?

Then his hearing faded out too. 

All that was left was touch. Touch never went away for some reason. It was likely some hellish bullshit that if you couldn’t feel anything, you wouldn’t be able to feel pain throughout the experience either and that just wasn’t how ‘eternal damnation’ worked.

And he did feel it.

The pain that was.

It was agonizing, as expected when you have a literal goddamn gaping hole in your chest. He could feel the tissues rearranging at the speed of continental drift, healing in the most painful way possible- it like surgery without anesthetic.

Thoughts were muddled and confused and he was quickly sinking into the depths of his own mind but he was brought just the slightest bit closer to the surface as a pair of thin arms picked up his body.

Vox and Alastor had similar builds so this was either a good thing or a very, very terrible thing. If he were a betting man though (and yeah he sure as fuck was) he’d say it was Alastor.

It was the small details that gave the boss away. It was the way one hand cradled his head with special attention to the fact that his neck no longer had the ability to support itself. It was in the way Husk’s entire body was clenched just a little bit towards the figure’s chest.

The demon’s identity was cemented when a nose was nuzzled into the side of his neck. Yeah… that was Alastor. He had often gotten into nuzzling during their petting sessions. Usually it was a gleeful action, cheekily pushing Husk’s boundaries to the limits- just because the little shit could. There was no giddiness this time and the whole action felt almost subdued.

God he almost thought it seemed _tender_. If he could talk, he’d have said something like: _‘Geez Al, with a performance like that, one would almost think you cared.'_ Well, more likely, he would probably just begin cursing like a sailor to diffuse this mood as quickly as possible, complaining about how his wound 'hurt like a bitch' and that it was somehow Alastor's fault.

But as it was, Husk was indisposed and Alastor had free range to do whatever the fuck he wanted unheckled, and he seemed to be taking this once-in-an-afterlife opportunity to breath in the scent of Husk's fur. It should have creeped him out but it didn't. In fact, if it weren’t for that massive hole in his heart, it might have even warmed a little.

A moment later, Husk was deposited back onto his own bed, the bounce of the terribly old screechy mattress was a tell-tale giveaway. The thing was considered junk back in the eighties. He was unfortunately situated on top of one of the hard lumps he usually avoided in his sleeping positions, but Alastor would have had no way of knowing that, and it was Husk’s own damn fault for never replacing the crummy thing.

Actually, it was a bit of a Godsend. _(Satansend?)_ As long as he could feel things external to him, he was able to stay semi-present. By this time in his last death, he had been completely lost to the world by now. There was nothing good down there waiting for him. This was a much better place to be. The lump was just uncomfortable enough that it gave him something to anchor himself to reality. It also let him focus on something other than just the glaring pain within his own body.

Speaking of external influences… Somehow Alastor’s presence seemed to linger. Maybe.

It was honestly probably Husk’s imagination, inventing the company in his brain to help cope in some part with the pain.

But then there was a hand.

He still wasn’t convinced it wasn’t some false comfort of his own creation because, well, he’d been Alastor’s personal lap cat for many years now and he knew what his hands felt like. Alastor’s touch… was hardly this sentimental.

A thumb was brushed across the thin white fur of his cheekbone. A claw scratched a single curve across the back of his ear.

Then, whether imaginary or not, ‘Alastor’ disappeared.

The presence returned to his side a number of times throughout his recovery. Husk was now certain he was real because honestly, it was just like Alastor to obstinately get his pets in even while the cat was out of commission.

What a selfish bastard.

His claws would card through the fur of Husk’s favourite spots with pinpoint accuracy. Truly selfish.

But what was even more selfish and terrible, was when these visits abruptly stopped.

For the last few however many days, Husk was left entirely alone, and he sank into the real abyss of death that not even his lumpy mattress could save him from.

There was some hardly coherent point in time where he went from ‘dead’ to 'sleeping'. At that point, he was caught in the most nonsensical, but somehow potently realistic dreams.

By the end of the sequence, he was back in 'Nam. A human once again, desperately chasing after a helicopter.

But the helicopter didn’t sound like a helicopter… it was almost like… _what was that sound?_

He woke up all at once in his own bedroom. It was bright, someone had pulled open the curtains. Certainly not him, he never really bothered with that anymore.

The sound from his dream carried forward into reality and he realized it was a vacuum. _Niffty_ …

He stumbled out of his room and the tiny one-eyed demon squealed with glee, abruptly turning off the device before running over and barrelling herself into his shakey legs with enough force to almost knock him over. “Husk! You’re up!”

As soon as he had gotten his bearings from the second speeding bullet he’d taken in however many weeks, he glanced down at the little menace hugging his knees with a disgruntled sigh.

After a couple of moments of trying to find to right words of reprimand (something about how he could have broken a hip with how she’d almost barreled him over) he decided to just not say anything at all in favour of dropping a paw to awkwardly pat the top of her poofy hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m up-“ he grumbled.

She tore herself away at the speed of light and began rearranging invisible imperfections in the room, whether it be moving his table lamp exactly one inch to the left or re-fluffing a couch pillow that was hardly indented. “Goodness! If I had known you’d be up today I would have made things nicer for you, oh no this isn’t right at all!”

Through trying to follow all of her darting about with his eyes, it was how his attention caught on the pink and orange suitcase tucked to the side of the couch.

There was blanket and pillow (neatly folded) on the couch as well. Had she been… sleeping here?

“You movin’ in or something?” He asked gesturing vaguely at all of the evidence stacked out in front of him.

Niffty froze. “Oh,” she said before a couple of nervous giggles. “Well… a lot has happened since you.. um, went down… but never mind that! You must be so happy to be on your paws again!” She clasped her face in horror- midway through moving the toaster in the kitchenette to be just a little bit more perpendicular to the counter’s edge. “I can’t even imagine having to stay put in one place for that long!”

He looked at her with the faintest hint of intrigue. Niffty was never shy to offer information. It wasn’t like her at all to be cryptic, he knew every detail of her life and certainly not from his own asking. He hadn’t even known she was capable of hiding anything.

This warranted a little more prodding. She was a live-in maid at Alastor’s place after all- he wondered if it correlated with when he stopped receiving his death-bed visits. “A lot?” He finally asked, scratching an itch on his back as if he didn’t care at all about the current conversation. “Radio demon bullshit I’m guessing?”

“Ooo, yes,” Niffty offered up immediately. “Well, you obviously know that Vox attacked Alastor’s house. Of course that escaladed! Can you imagine Alastor not responding? He had this big raid of Vox’s offices, just like Valentino’s studios that one time!”

“And?” Husk asked. He had joined her in the kitchen area of the bachelor pad at this time and began rummaging through the fridge. It was next to empty, she must have been throwing out stuff as things expired.

“Well…” Niffty said. Her hesitance was back and he actually gave up at his fruitless effort of staring at his shelves until beer materialized to glance back her way.

She was fidgeting. “Um.. I mean… _you_ _weren’t there Husk_ …”

“I’m aware,” he grumbled. “What of it, is the asshole actually holding that against me?”

“No!” She said quickly. “No of course not! But… when have any of Alastor’s big plans worked without you stepping in?”

A weird feeling fell over him. One with the strangest tingle of dread and disbelief. “Did he… get hurt?” It was such an unbelievable thought to entertain. Alastor was supposed to be frustratingly untouchable. He was someone who could do whatever the hell he wanted to with no consequences- it had been that way all of Husk’s afterlife.

“He’s fine…” she said. “It’s just that, hm how should I put it? When things don’t go his way, he sometimes needs some time on his own.”

“He kicked you out onto the streets because of a little hissy fit?” Husk asked, the knot in his chest gave way immediately to irritation at his benefactor’s complete childishness. Hell was not a nice place, certainly not somewhere you let a young girl like her wander the streets alone.

“No I always choose to go to a hotel when this happens and I go back to clean up the mess afterwards when it's all done. It’s just better to not be there when he gets like that.” She perked up. “This time though I came here! I thought you might like having someone here for you when you got up!”

Husk just looked at her as he tried to piece together all this new information.

“Was I… wrong?” She asked.

He opened his mouth to rip out one of his trademark gruff responses but stopped himself. Every so often he actually made a conscious effort to say the right thing. Especially for her. “Nah kid… it’s good to see ya.”

Her eye sparkled and she returned to hugging him so tightly around the legs that he once again almost lost his balance- probably would have if he hadn't steadied himself on the counter.

“By the way,” he said, glancing outside as if the sky would actually tell him anything, “what day is it?”

“Wednesday, just a little before noon!” Niffty chirped. “You’ve been of out commission for ten days!”

Shit.

He missed last week’s poker night.

WAIT SHIT.

He needed to make sure they knew he was around as soon as possible and plead his case to be let back in this week.

“I’ve got some things to take care of,” Husk said and quickly but gently coaxed her off of him.

“Oh yes I’m sure! It’s a lovely day outside too! You should go on a walk to get used to your legs underneath you again!”

“Yes, sure,” he agreed absentmindedly and rushed as fast as he could out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BY THE WAY. You know what you should do? You should come join the radiohusk discord server: https://discord.gg/NHc9kTmQZd
> 
> I'd have posted it as a real link but idk, those haven't been working for me recently, I've been using the same html code I always used in the past with success but the whole thing just disappears. I'm not a computer witch. Just copy paste it lol.
> 
> Come hang out, talk about radiohusk, talk about hazbin, TALK ABOUT HOW BAD YOU WISH YOU COULD JUST PET THE SAD DEPRESSED CAT TIL HE FEELS LOVED. It's a small quiet server (been getting quieter recently as the hazbin hype has settled) but there always people around ready to talk HH or HB.
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to bed. It'd be nice to talk to y'all sometime though if you ever decide to join.


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